Upon a Painted Ocean
by P.S. Speare
Summary: AU. As captain of his own pirate ship, the usually rational Ran finds himself making an impulsive purchase in a slave named Ken.
1. Redemption

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 1: Redemption _

_Santa Domingo, Hispanola, 1596_

"How many more, Kit?" Captain Randall Fielding practically screamed to be heard above the overwhelming noise of the bustling marketplace. The midday sun beat mercilessly down on his body, causing his clothes to stick uncomfortably to him like a second skin. This, with the combination of tropical humidity and the smell of sweating bodies from the crowd made Ran fervently wish he could return to the quiet of his own ship. To top it off, the captain could feel the beginnings of a monumental headache just around the corner. He looked at his companion impatiently, hoping and praying the man would say that they were done for the day.

"Just one more, Captain. We still need a cabin boy for you," Kit replied knowingly. "Remember, we lost Tommy in the last raid."

Ran sighed inwardly, attempting to block out the annoying sights and sounds of the market square. Hispanolathis was the hub of commerce in the new Americas, legal or otherwise. You could buy or trade for anything here, from the simplest gadget to human lives, and no one would question you for it. From Spanish, to Portuguese, from French to British, all those who had any ambition or adventurous spirit whatsoever tended to pass through here, contributing to the kaleidoscope of riff raff that made up Hispaniola and its inhabitants. Ran knew this and was grateful for the anonymity it provided. "Well, let's get it over with then. You know what you're doing." 

"Of course," Kit smiled as he turned around and squeezed his sizeable bulk into the molasses of people.

Ran smiled slightly at watching his first mate push his way to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the slaves up for auction. The Right Honourable Christopher Cummings, of Stratford-upon-Avon, was a man heading into his fifties but still retained the energy and enthusiasm of a person half his age. With his neatly trimmed beard and distinguished grey hair, the man looked like he belonged behind the desk of some counting house back in London. But Ran thanked whatever powers that be the man had decided to stay aboard his ship when he could have easily chosen otherwise. Once an attendant to Ran's father, an admiral in the Royal Navy, Kit had elected to sign on with his employer's son after the older Fielding had died, whether it was done out of loyalty or sheer idiocy, Ran would never know. The older man could have settled down, and perhaps even started a family but instead, he had chosen a life that bordered on the fringes of decent society; after all, Ran was just a step above a common pirate.

'No, not a pirate,' Ran corrected himself as he shoved his way up to join Kit. 'A privateer.'

"Well?"

The older man was a whole head shorter than his red haired captain and had to crane his neck to be heard. "Nothing, Captain. None of them look any good. Not strong enough to cut it at sea."

"Then we might as well get back. I think we've bought enough men to replace the ones we lost in the last skirmish." Ran was eager to return to his ship, the headache that had been threatening before was now making its presence known with a vengeance.

"Wait a little, Captain. I head some Portuguese traders just brought in a new shipment. Maybe we'll find one there."

Ran heard the unspoken word in Kit's comment. Portuguese 'slave' traders ... men who seemed to put a price on human life and dealt with the sale of flesh as if it were nothing more than a commodity. Hiding his discomfort, Ran nodded and resigned himself to the torture of the Caribbean heat for a little while longer. As if on cue, the sound of clinking shackles and whips on skin indicated the arrival of human cargo. Ran strained above the crowd of potential buyers to get a better look at the new merchandise. Chained in both hand and feet, the bound men slowly dragged themselves single file toward the auction block, their backs and shoulder slumped in a posture of submission that had probably been beaten into them. Naked flesh exposed to the unrelenting sun, a majority were of African origin, clearly torn from a familiar lifestyle and thrust into a world too divergent from what they had known if the disoriented looks in their eyes were any indication. However, some of the chained men were of other nationalities, although Ran couldn't tell from which. Yet, he could make an educated guess that most were in all likelihood branded as convicts or heretics by their respective countries.

A pathetic lot they were, Ran had to admit, though some showed promise. Youths to grown men alike were all stripped bare for the perusal of the possible purchasers with nothing to adorn their forms but the damning metal shackles, a fact that disturbed the young captain when he considered the loss of dignity these men must be experiencing.

A sudden commotion near the end of the slave procession caused Ran to turn his head. What had caught everyone's attention was a young African boy, who had stumbled to the ground, his feet probably tangled in the restraints as he tried to keep up with his older comrades. Like a vulture swooping down on something half-dead, a man with a whip was immediately on the fallen child, arm raised and ready to mete out a rather cruel punishment. Ran braced himself for the 'thwip' of the whip contacting young, tender flesh but it never came. As if out of nowhere, chained hands came up and grabbed the offending weapon. Enraged, the slave master shook off the bold arms and stared venomously at the shackled young man who had been following the boy. Defiant brown eyes met the man's gaze, eyes that neither wavered nor flinched as the captor brought the lash down on the young man's exposed skin instead.

Ran was entranced. The boy's saviour couldn't have been older than twenty-one years. With his sleekly muscled body, smooth lightly sun-kissed skin, and shock of dark brown hair, the young slave was ... beautiful. 

'A sculptor's dream,' thought Ran, the metaphor appearing from nowhere. But it wasn't this that intrigued the redhead. No, it was the story written in the brunette's breathtaking face that drew Ran to him: a man who had seen and known darkness, despair, and defeat, but somehow, had managed to retain an unbroken spirit. The young captain counted ten lashes as they were harshly given, and through it all, the brunette didn't move, his posture erect and his face expressionless as he took the punishment originally meant for the boy.

"I want him," Ran told Kit.

The first mate looked up at his captain in confusion. "Who, the kid?"

"No, the saviour," was the reply. "I want him and I don't care about the price."

"But Captain ... we need a cabin boy, not another deckhand ... " Kit's protests fell on deaf ears as Ran turned away.

"I'm going back to the ship, Kit. And I want to see him report for duty in my cabin when you bring our purchases back." With that, Ran walked away, moving as deftly as he could through the crush of bodies that comprised the place of commerce.

Kit shook his head in disbelief. For as long as he'd known Ran, the redhead had rarely wanted anything, much less spoke those desires out loud. That quick display of emotion in seeing the slave piqued the first mate's curiosity.

At any price, the captain had said. He turned his attention back to the auction block and searched for the brunette who had captured his captain's fancy. To be honest, Kit couldn't see why Ran had been so taken with him. Granted, the young man was well built and looked much healthier than the rest of the lot, but he certainly didn't fit the profile Kit had had in mind for a cabin boy.

The first mate sighed. Nevertheless, Ran had said that he wanted him, and from his limited experience, Kit had learned that whatever the captain wanted, the captain got.

(***)

The sound of brass slamming against polished wood sliced through the silence of the cabin. Ran cursed, looking down hatefully at his discarded compass, and the charts that lay before him on the desk. Soon, the navigational instrument blurred, along with the lines and calculations on the maps he'd been working on. He leaned back in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the unbearable headache to go away. Yet the constant throbbing only continued to mock him, a rhythmic pounding inside his head that refused to abate. The muffled shouts of his crewmen fought their way into the secluded cabin but instead of upsetting his much valued quiet, he found the sounds almost comforting. He definitely preferred this semi-silence to the constant hustle and bustle of the marketplace.

Ah, yes, the marketplace ... at the recollection, he wondered if Kit had managed to obtain the young slave he had seen just hours ago. Reflecting back, he didn't know why he had impulsively ordered his first mate to buy him. In fact, he had never made an impulsive purchase in his life. But that man had somehow managed to truly and fully captivate his senses, momentarily stealing his breath and his reason away without ever knowing it. And in that one brief moment, when rational thought had deserted him and the busy world had faded into the background, he knew he had to have him, to possess every part of that beautiful chained creature. It made him wonder who had really been the slave at that point in time because honestly, he wouldn't have been able to act of his own free will even if he wanted to. In retrospect, Ran almost laughed at his sheer lack of forethought. What had he been thinking to actually want something so badly? He had striven hard not to let his wants and desires dictate any of his decisions. Wanting was a weakness and weaknesses eventually led to one's downfall.

'Ran, what were you doing?' He berated himself, chagrin at this afternoon's actions weaving its way into his thoughts. 'I hope Kit didn't get him. I have a feeling he wouldn't have been any good for my sanity or my ...'

A knock interrupted his thoughts, causing him to open his eyes and straighten his relaxed position.

"Enter." His voice came out clear, authoritative, and forceful, all befitting a ship's captain.

As if hearing his ruminations, the very subject of his thoughts walked into the cabin, his movements slow but confident. The slave paused to close the door and then turned to take in the ship's captain. For one blinding moment, their eyes met, intense violet colliding with soul-piercing brown and Ran felt the air suddenly leave his lungs. The doubts he had been dwelling on moments ago in purchasing this young man quickly dissolved, leaving an inexplicable reverence and uncertain awe in the object standing just a few steps away. All too soon, those dark eyes lowered themselves and Ran nearly cried out in protest. Slowly moving further into the cabin, the brunette positioned himself in front of the desk, waiting for orders from the man behind it.

Shaking off the trance that gripped him took no small amount of will but Ran forced himself to do so, remembering his rank and then objectively assessing his most recent purchase. The new arrival was slightly taller than average but not tall enough to top the young captain. His body was nicely muscled, yet not overly so, allowing him to move with the stealthy panther-like grace that Ran had witnessed just moments ago upon his entrance. Kit must have found him a pair of pants because he was now definitely more clothed than he had been back at the auction. The worn fabric seemed a little too large, riding low on his hips and providing excellent emphasis for his alluring torso. But other than the pants, he wore nothing else; his lightly tanned skin and sculpted body openly exposed to curious and appreciative eyes.

Finally managing to re-gather what still remained of his wits, Ran rose and made his way around the desk. The other man neither moved nor made a sound, standing impossibly still and unreadable as the redhead approached. For reasons he couldn't fathom, Ran wanted this man to look at him again, to flash that brief spark of life and fire he had seen when the door first opened.

"What's your name?" Ran asked instead as he slowly began to circle the object of his fascination.

'He's ... perfect.' The thought popped into the captain's mind unbidden, but the word seemed apt in describing this supposedly submissive man.

Ran paused, waiting for a reply. When none was forthcoming, a small, amused smile played on his lips. "If you don't tell me, I'll just have to give you one."

"Ken," came a murmured response.

"Ken," Ran repeated, playing with the name on his tongue. It suited him, subtle, simple, ... strong. Satisfied that he'd finally gotten the brunette to speak, he continued to circle his new purchase. "You're part of my crew now, Ken. I bought you and therefore, I own you, which means ... " Ran stopped, his speech catching in his throat when his eyes fell on the angry, red welts that liberally marred the smooth skin of the younger man's back. Some were still oozing blood, and some were just brutal discolorations on unbroken skin, but whichever it was, it must have hurt like hell. Suddenly, Ran felt an almost uncontrollable urge to find the slave master who had done this and turn that offending whip on him, just to let him experience the pain he inflicted so freely. He didn't know where it came from, but the fury that had consumed him at the sight of Ken's injuries was overwhelming.

Clenching his fists and trying to retain his renowned self-control, he picked up where he'd left off. "Which means my orders are to be followed to the letter."

Ran watched Ken's posture for a reaction, perhaps a stiffening of the spine or a squaring of the shoulders. Nothing.

And so he continued. "Your position is as my attendant. You will help out on deck when possible but your primary duty is to see to my needs. Is that understood?"

Since Ran was still standing behind his new crewman, he barely noticed the small nod that Ken gave. The redhead was slightly disappointed; he had hoped to see more of a response from the younger man, like a little hint of the audacity and spirit he'd been exposed to at the auction or when the brunette had first entered the cabin.

Suppressing an uncharacteristic sigh, Ran started to turn away when something caught his eye. A scar, a simple vertical line healed white and hardly noticeable if one wasn't looking, branded the base on the back of Ken's neck. Intrigued, Ran moved closer to examine it and didn't even realize his fingers had lightly skimmed over the puckered skin.

As if touched by a red-hot poker, Ken jerked away and whipped around, retreating until the back of his legs hit the desk. Ran watched with a combination of surprise and curiosity as the brunette finally showed some life, his dark eyes meeting the captain's again with defiance and ... distaste?

Ran remained rooted in his spot, somehow sensing that the brunette would attack if he moved any closer. "Go. Report to Kit." The captain then took a step back, giving the younger man a clear path out of the cabin.

Ken moved, slowly and warily, toward the door, refusing to turn his back on Ran and eyes holding the look of a cornered animal ready to fight.

"And get those wounds dressed," the captain added as the door was opened.

Ken gave Ran one last accusing gaze before he closed the door, leaving the young captain alone in his cabin with a head full of unanswered questions and a body full of rioting emotions.

(***)

Ken shut the door behind him and let out a relieved breath. So that was the captain of the ship. He had seemed so young ... too young in fact to command this magnificent vessel. But then again, Ken thought wryly, he really wasn't in any position to judge. Behind the captain's youthful façade lurked a keen intelligence that had undoubtedly enabled him to maintain command of the ship despite his age. In fact, he had seen it firsthand, that cunning mind, in the brief moment when their eyes had met - a gaze that saw deep into a person's psyche, illuminated by that ethereal violet light. He had felt that man's scrutiny pierce deep into his core, searching and probing at the secrets he would rather leave buried. And in that one instant, Ken had felt unadulterated fear, unbearably afraid of what the captain would find should he dig any deeper. Thus, he had looked away, unwilling to surrender any part of himself to a complete stranger.

Brushing off the invasive thoughts of his new captain, Ken shifted his attention to his new surroundings. He took a few steps forward, and turned around slowly, taking in the fine-crafted architecture of the ship. His eyes fell onto the main mast and followed its length up to the crow's nest. The sails hadn't been fully hoisted yet, but he could see the heavy canvas set and ready to go on the captain's orders. Ken breathed in a lungful of fresh, ocean air, a familiar sense of excitement stirring in his veins. Strange but he felt like he had finally come home. But that thought aside, it was just nice to be aboard the deck of a ship again, and not the dank hold he'd been cooped up in during his tenure as a slave.

"Hey, Kid!"

Turning towards the shout, Ken saw the portly man who had bought him from the auction approach. Kit, the captain had called him.

Seeing that he had gotten Ken's attention, Kit tossed him the clothing he'd been carrying. "That's yours."

The younger man caught it easily and looked down at the worn fabric in his hands. They were probably secondhand but he couldn't complain, since he owned nothing when he had come aboard.

"Talk to the captain yet?" At Ken's nod, the first mate continued. "Good, then I'll quickly explain the rules to you." Kit watched the silent man, attempting to read Ken's expression. If there was one thing Kit had perfected in his years at sea, it was accurately judging a person's character ... and the young man before him was no exception. This one had secrets, he knew, but also a strength of spirit that perhaps rivaled even Ran's. Kit smiled inwardly at that thought. Maybe this boy would be good for the usually aloof captain after all.

"You were a slave and therefore, are indebted to the captain. His rules are simple, and fairer than any other captain out there. You belong to him until all your debts are paid off, at which point, you have the option of leaving or staying on. From my experience, most slaves tend to stay, seeing as how they won't be treated so well anywhere else. We make legitimate runs, carrying cargo back and forth for paying clients but that's not to say we're above plundering a few ships now and then ... especially if they're Spanish." Kit smiled wickedly. "Of course, in both cases, each crewman gets a share of the spoils."

"So he's nothing more than a common pirate," Ken noted, a small hint of disgust in his tone.

The first mate chuckled. "Don't let him hear you say that, Kid. The captain likes to call himself a privateer. In fact, he has letter of marque from Queen Elizabeth herself."

"They're all the same," Ken muttered, unimpressed with Ran's royal recommendation.

Kit ignored the brunette's comment. "Well, you'll be attending him most of the time but if you're not, report to me, understand?"

Ken nodded.

"That's it for now. We set sail tomorrow. Until then, learn the ship. She's a fine specimen if there ever was one." Kit practically beamed. "Any questions?"

When Ken said nothing, the first mate began to walk away.

"No, wait. I do have one." Kit turned, waiting. "What's the name of the ship?"

The older man smiled, pride reflected clearly in his tone. "This ship? The Redemption." And with that, he walked away, heading towards the forecastle to check on some pre-departure preparations.

"The Redemption," Ken repeated quietly. How ironic, he thought to himself. He unconsciously touched his wrists, partly expecting to feel the cold bands still encircling them. Although the metal cuffs had been removed, he couldn't help but feel that he remained chained by phantom shackles to a past he could never escape. Redemption and freedom ... he smiled emptily at the cruel jest Fate had played on him. They were nothing but mere illusions, dangled tauntingly beyond his reach ... entities he sought but would never become reality ... not for him at least ... never for him.  


End Chapter 1


	2. After the Storm

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 2: After the Storm _

Two and two make ...

The whisper of cloth gliding against polished wood.

And two and two make ...

A rustling of fabric caused by hurried motions.

And two and two make ...

The dull thump of his books as they were repositioned on his shelf.

And two and ... Damn!

Ran dropped his quill and gave up the miserable pretense of trying to work. He was distracted, plain and simple, although trying to convince his rational mind of that fact seemed almost impossible. After all, he never got distracted, and if he did, it wouldn't be by the quiet, enigmatic brunette who was cleaning his cabin at the moment. Casually leaning forward, the young captain placed an elbow on his desk and tiredly leaned his head onto his supportive hand. His gaze traveled across the candlelit room to linger guiltily on his most recent acquisition: tousled, brown hair framed a decidedly elegant, yet strong, face, its planes and angles deceptively sharpened by the flickering illumination, and thereby heightening the sense of mystery that already surrounded the man. He was still wearing the pants that Ran had seen him in two days ago but in addition to that, Ken now wore a loose, tan vest. It was a practical choice considering the sweltering Caribbean heat, but it also served to highlight the young man's athletic physique, the worn leather hanging and molding to him in just the right places and accentuating his nicely sculpted arms.

'To hell with the account books,' Ran thought uncharacteristically and continued to watch his new crewman clean the cabin. The former slave's movements were quick and efficient, yet still possessed a modicum of grace and poetry that constantly managed to steal Ran's breath away. He didn't know where this whimsical impulsiveness had come from, and if he had been in his usual logical frame of mind, he might have even questioned and quelled it. But at this very moment, his usual self appeared to have deserted him, as it seemed wont to do when Ken was around.

It had been two days now ... two days since they had left port, ... and two days of being in this man's magnetic presence. They had barely spoken and what few words had been exchanged between the two amounted to nothing more than the requisite orders from a captain to a crewman. Silence had been a third companion when the two of them were together and normally, Ran would've found this to be more than sufficient, but for some undefined reason, he wanted to see a little more personality, a little more life from the quiet man.

All too soon, Ken finished and turned to look at the captain for either further orders or permission to leave. Ran sat up, surprised with the fact that he'd spent so long staring and had forgotten his position on the ship. He looked into the wary brown depths of the other man's eyes, still intrigued by the world of secrets that lay buried there.

"How do you like the ship?" The question slipped out before Ran had a chance to stop it. A captain does not start up casual conversation with his crewman while on duty, and he definitely does not allow anyone to distract him from his responsibilities, at least according to Ran's set of rules. But clearly, those rules had been easily broken.

"Well enough," came Ken's soft reply. 

'Well enough,' Ran repeated in his head. He had expected, ... no, he had wanted a little more enthusiasm from the brunette. Well enough, indeed. Ran had put his whole life into the Redemption and to simply say 'well enough' was an insult to the personal pride he carried for his ship. And inexplicably, when those words had come out of Ken's mouth, Ran had felt strangely inadequate, as if his entire life's work hadn't meant anything to the former slave.

With no forthcoming order from the captain, Ken spoke again. "Will that be all, Captain?"

Ran snapped out of his shallow reverie and turned his attention back to the man standing before him. Impassive dark eyes stared back.

"Stay for a drink with me?"

For a fleeting moment, Ran could have sworn he saw a flicker of insecurity and hesitation on the brunette's face. But all too quickly, the deceivingly submissive disposition was once again reinstated.

"Is that an order, Captain?"

The redhead felt a small smile tug at his lips. "No, an invitation."

Ken looked away. "Then I will decline."

Ran should have been insulted, affronted even that someone should refuse his offer. But oddly enough, he wasn't. He could have easily ordered Ken to stay, but it would have been an empty victory. He finally saw it now, the mysterious man who stood before him. He saw him now for what he really was - a challenge. Ran fought hard to keep the amused grin from showing on his expressionless face.

"Very well then," Ran acceded. He stood up and slowly made his way to the window. His cabin was positioned beneath the quarterdeck and thus, he had allowed himself the luxury of windows, which gave him an unobstructed view of the endless ocean. It was a soothing sight, and one that he took in quite often. He stared out at the dark velvet of the night sky, his thoughts still focused on the man standing behind him.

"Go tell Kit to batten down the hatches. Looks like a storm approaching."

"Yes, Captain."

Ran heard some muffled shuffling followed by the click of a closing door. He now stood alone in the room and it was only then that he let the smile form on his lips.

A challenge ... the young captain felt something inside him stir with anticipation. Yes, Ken was a challenge, and if there was one thing Ran never backed away from, it was the thrill of meeting and overcoming a difficult challenge.

(***)

Ken felt the tension leave his body as soon as he closed the door behind him. He always tended to stiffen up whenever he was near the captain, which made the redhead immensely uncomfortable just to be around. Those violet eyes knew too much, saw too much, and Ken would just as well not dig up any buried secrets if he could help it. Yet, even now, he could still feel those piercing eyes on him, assessing him, reading him, burning into him. He had been aware of the redhead's gaze just moments ago, following his every movement in that room with an almost unbearable intensity. But he had ignored it - or at least, had tried his best to - just like he had ignored the heated atmosphere that seemed to surround him and the captain whenever they were together.

Forcing the disturbing thoughts of the captain aside, Ken made his way on deck in search of the first mate. There was a definite humidity in the air that could only portend to an approaching storm. Ken felt the warm wind whip against his exposed skin and thus, picked up his pace as he ventured further onto the deck. He squinted at the dark figures that scampered by on the poorly lit nightscape, the moon apparently ensconced behind threatening clouds and the lanterns stubbornly refused to remain burning in wake of the wind.

Unable to find Kit near the bow, Ken turned to look elsewhere and accidentally bumped into another crewman. Taking a steadying step back, Ken mumbled a quiet apology before he tried to walk around the other man. 

"Well, if it ain't the new kid. So how's the captain's new boy doing?" The question was asked good-humouredly, no insult or rude insinuation in the man's tone at all. In fact, Ken had been taken aback by how friendly the crew had been, at least for a band of pirates. Although he'd been new to the ship, this group of ragtag misfits had subtly welcomed him aboard, instantly dubbing him the 'captain's boy' when they had heard about how the captain had demanded that Kit buy him, and patiently answered his inquiries until he'd learned his way around. Granted, there had been the requisite cussing and obscene gestures to overlook but Ken took that all in stride. All in all, these men were sailors, and being such hadn't exactly refined them in the area of proper deportment. However, what still stood out in Ken's mind was the absolute loyalty and reverence these men had for their captain; many, if not all, would undoubtedly die for the man.

Ken even recalled the day before when a deckhand had approached him and said how he'd never seen the captain so taken with anyone and that the crew was relieved to see that the usually reserved redhead was human after all. It had taken a while before Ken realized whom the other man was referring to and when he did, he brushed the fact off as a gross misjudgment on the part of the crew.

The brunette stared at the tall, muscled figure in front of him, sifting through the plethora of names he'd had to remember. It wasn't long before the name came to mind, along with a spurt of amusement. "I'm fine. Have you seen Kit, Tippy?" At first, Ken had wondered how such a large man had ended up with an odd name, but when Kit had told him about the man's affection for rum, it had become all too clear.

Tippy jerked his thumb to point behind him. "Over there, doing something with the sails."

Ken nodded his thanks and headed off in the indicated direction, once again feeling a harsh gust of wind pelt against his body as he made his way across the deck.

It didn't take long for Ken to locate the first mate once he knew where to look. With Kit's short stature and moderately wide girth, the brunette easily picked the man out amid the other sailors who were helping him mend a sail.

With an instinct honed from years at sea, Kit looked up at Ken, as if sensing the younger man's presence.

"What is it, Kid?" Kit asked as he shuffled over to Ken, leaving the other men to finish up what he'd been doing.

Ken nodded in greeting. "The captain says we should secure everything for the approaching storm." 

The first mate grunted in agreement. "I'm working on it. I've already sent men to secure the hatches and to ready the sails." He looked up at the ominous sky, the dark clouds pregnant with rain that threatened to fall at any moment. "Looks like a bad one," Kit muttered. As if on cue, a crash of thunder filled the air, its ensuing echo loud enough to cause a frisson of uneasiness to run down Ken's spine.

"Hey Kid, I want you to go down to the hold and secure the cargo," Kit ordered, his eyes becoming distracted now by the suddenness with which the storm was going to hit. "It's here sooner than I thought."

"Yes, sir." Ken nodded in acknowledgement and hastily made his way down to the hold. He hated it down there, its dark and claustrophobic confines reminding him too much of his time as a slave, but an order was an order, and in this case, it was crucial that it be followed. Swallowing the sense of dread lodged in his throat, Ken cautiously descended the stairs, half expecting to smell the stench of unwashed bodies and untainted terror with each step he took. He despised fear. He despised how it transformed the strong into the weak. He despised how it inevitably brought down even the bravest man. But that didn't stop memories from assaulting him, flooding his mind with the incessant cries of human suffering and despair that tore at his soul.

Ken could feel his own heartbeat quicken as beads of sweat trickled down his face, the rhythmic tattoo sounding too loud to be held in the confines of his chest. He took a deep breath of stale air and forced himself to hurry down the rest of the way, fighting against the gruesome images that flittered before his eyes. Swiftly and efficiently, he lit the lantern hanging by the foot of the stairs and surveyed the crates. Not wanting to know - and not caring - what was in them, he tightened any loose bindings he found and ensured that everything had been secured properly. Before long, he had completed his task and breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way back to the stairs.

All of a sudden, the ship lurched violently, sending Ken to the floor and his lantern crashing to the floorboards. Dazed by the fall, it took a moment before he managed to regain his senses and his breath, but when he did, he quickly moved to blow out the lantern and sprint up the steps. If that had been an indication of the strength of the storm, then it was severe indeed.

Ken arrived on deck to see chaos, the massive forces of wind and rain making tiny playthings of the mere mortals who had dared to frolic at sea. Men were uneasily slipping around on deck, trying to secure and fasten what they could as shouts were futilely yelled, laden with orders that were drowned out by the roaring ocean. Rivulets of rain ran unchecked down Ken's face and thunder echoed in his ears as the heavens once again decided to remind him of just how insignificant man was in the vast scheme of things. Ken whipped his head around, wondering what he could do to help the ship stay afloat.

And that was when he saw 'him'. A flash of lightning illuminated his imposing figure in a brief, eerie glow as the captain barked orders from the quarterdeck, his expression calm yet forceful in the face of adversity. Ken stood frozen for a moment, and felt his breath catch in his throat, awed by the presence of the man who was in charge of this ship. Like a warrior out of Greek mythology, Ran commanded his men with a charisma that belied a will of steel, and in that instance, Ken began to understand why these men were willing to die for their captain; although he'd only known the man for two days, deep down, Ken suspected he felt the same.

Just then, Ran's eyes fell on him and Ken sensed the piercing gaze penetrate deep into his core. Lightning flashed once more as the two shared an eternal moment in time. All too soon, Ran turned away, his attention needed elsewhere, but in that one brief look, Ken had felt something inexplicably comforting spread through his soul. 

'It'll be okay,' those violet eyes had said, causing the residual fear from the hold and the uneasy apprehension from the storm disappear like a wisp of smoke. Yes, he now understood why the men would willingly give up their lives for this man - he would too.

Snapping out of his trance, Ken quickly moved his body into action. Half running and half sliding on the slippery deck, Ken managed to grab a hold of the mast as the ship hit a nasty swell, sending many others off their feet. Letting his instincts take over, he found a stray length of rope near his feet, and deftly tied one end around the mast and the other around his waist. All the while, he blinked rapidly to keep the water out of his eyes as his hands were otherwise occupied.

That done, Ken glanced around to see if his help was required anywhere else, but the crew seemed efficient enough to take care of the crucial duties. He then saw Kit clinging onto the ship portside as he tried to keep another man from being thrown overboard.

'Foolish old man!' Ken thought angrily to himself. 'You'll fall over yourself!' As if hearing his mental comment, the ship lurched wildly, sending Kit helplessly to the boards and precariously close to the edge. If the ship hit another severe swell, the man would fall over. Reacting almost instantly, and grateful for the slack he'd given the rope, Ken ran toward the fallen first mate and wrapped his arms around the older man just as a large wave tipped the ship almost onto its side. Ken hung onto Kit with all his might, and let out only a small pained exclamation when the rope dug deep into his ribs. 

Thunder cracked, winds blew, rain pelted, and Ken could feel his body shout in protest from the abuse. But he closed his eyes and tightened his hold, whispering a prayer to whatever god was listening, and waiting out the wrath of Nature's fury with the meager strength of a mortal.

(***)

The predawn greyness was all the illumination Ran had when he finally managed to survey the damage to his ship. He walked slowly around the deck, skirting by fallen debris and men who were efficiently cleaning up the mess. He let out a silent sigh of relief when his assessment yielded results that weren't too unfavourable. They should be back on course within a day or two.

Ran closed his eyes for a moment, feeling an overwhelming fatigue wash through his body. Yet, he wasn't the only one tired on this ship: every single man had worked as hard as he had - if not more so - the night before, and thus, he couldn't complain. Besides which, he was the captain and had to set an example. Forcing his already strained self into alertness and putting some false energy into his step, he continued to move around the deck and supervise the clean up.

Glancing up at the rigging, he looked away with a satisfied nod when he saw that someone was already up there untangling the sails. Then he froze. Quickly turning his head back, he felt himself unable to breathe when realized 'who' was up there in the intricately woven ropes of the rigging.

Ken.

Ran stood, transfixed as the younger man swung around, rope to rope, and arresting the redhead's heart each time he did so. Ran could taste the bitter mixture of anger and worry on his tongue; he wanted to find the one responsible for putting 'his' Ken up there and yet, was unwilling to leave the brunette unwatched at such a dangerous height.

"He's quite competent, isn't he?"

Ran tore his gaze away from the sails and looked into the approving eyes of his first mate. "Kit, what's he doing up there? I gave no such order!" He was barely able to contain the fury in from his voice.

The older man chuckled, inwardly amused at the captain's rare loss of composure. He turned his eyes up toward the boy and answered the redhead's question calmly. "He volunteered. He knows what he's doing, Captain. The way he moves, the way he learned the ship ... he's worked on one before. I know it. And besides, he saved my life last night, which only shows me that he's a good one to have under pressure."

Guilt assaulted Ran as he realized he'd forgotten Kit's recent brush with death. Concerned, his eyes skimmed over the first mate, checking for any apparent injuries. "Are you alright?"

Kit nodded. "No thanks to your new cabin boy. I owe him my life."

Ran returned his gaze up toward the figure dangling dangerously from the rigging, a rush of mixed emotions suddenly coursing through him. Prying his eyes from the brunette, Ran commanded himself to continue with his own duties.

"When he's finished, Kit, send him to me," Ran ordered as he walked away.

"Yes, Captain," the older man replied, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

(***)

Ken approached the captain from behind, slowly and tentatively, partly because he instinctively became wary when in close proximity of the man and partly because he didn't want to jar his bruised ribs any more than he had to. Swinging around on the rigging hadn't helped matters much either but he had wanted to feel useful earlier, and seeing as everyone had been too busy with other duties, he'd taken it upon himself to check the sails - a choice he sorely regretted now that his ribs complained with every breath.

Ken stopped just behind the man, and took the opportunity to watch the young captain without him noticing. The man stood leaning against the railing of the ship, and staring off into the vastness of the ocean, seemingly deep in thought. It may have been his imagination, but Ken saw a slight sagging of the redhead's shoulders, undoubtedly from the strain of the previous night's events. And yet, even now, when all the danger had passed, the man still seemed to exude an aura of regality that commanded complete and utter loyalty.

Finally deciding to make his presence known, Ken spoke. "Captain, you wished to see me?"

No response at first, and then softly, Ken heard two soft words. "Join me."

"Captain?" Ken approached the man, moving to stand beside him and leaning on the rail as well. "Captain, you wanted to see me?" Ken looked inquiringly at Ran's side profile.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the redhead asked quietly, his gaze not leaving the seascape.

"What?" Ken gave the horizon a fleeting glance. "Oh, yes yes, it is. Did you need something from me, Captain?"

After a short pause, Ran finally turned his head to face the younger man. "I ... I just wanted to say thank you ... thank you for saving Kit last night. He's ... he's all I have left." As if uncomfortable with the words that had just left his mouth, Ran quickly looked away, his attention once more focused on the open sea.

Ken stood, stunned at the heartfelt sounds that had just floated to his ears. And had that been ... vulnerability he'd seen in the captain's eyes? No, it couldn't be, not in the stalwart captain of the Redemption. But there had been something there, something barely identifiable, an unguarded look that had allowed Ken a passing glimpse of the demons the reserved man usually kept to himself. So, as the crew had suspected, the captain was human after all.

Sensing that the redhead still felt awkward with what he had just said, Ken found himself wanting to put the man at ease. He turned his full gaze toward the horizon and felt his heart stop at the scene before him. 

The beginnings of the dawn were battling with the remnants of the night, leaving majestic streaks of red, pink, and orange hues in its wake. It was the eternal clash of light and dark that left the splattered soldiers smeared against the canvas of the sky, a battlefield enhanced twofold by the mirror of the reflective sea.

"It's beautiful ..." Ken breathed out, his whole being riveted by the everyday miracle that was occurring right in front of him. "Like a painting ..."

Ran nodded in agreement, letting the magic of the moment erase any uneasiness he'd been feeling. "Empires come and go, but this, Ken ... this is forever."

Forever ...

The word lingered in the air as the two men watched the sunrise, a sense of total peace washing over Ken as he felt the light slowly warm his face. He closed his eyes, savouring the tranquility of the moment, and the oddly comforting presence of the man beside him.

Forever ...

All too soon, the pleasant warmth that had caressed his skin gave way to an uncomfortable heat, and Ken reopened his eyes to see the full brilliant orb of the sun.

Forever ...

Ken straightened and turned away.

Nothing lasts forever.  


End Chapter 2


	3. Shadows of the Past

_Historical notes and references in this chapter and future ones:_

_Toledo Steel _- In the making of a sword forged from Toledo Steel, the metal is folded in over 300 times, resulting in a blade that earned a reputation renowned throughout the world. Its strength rivaled only that of the samurai swords of Japan.

_King Philip II_ - King of Spain from 1556 to 1598. He was once considered a possible candidate for marriage to Elizabeth I.

_Political Climate of the Seas_ - For almost a century after Columbus sailed to the Americas, Spain ruled the sea with their infamous Spanish Armada. However, when a princess named Elizabeth took the throne of England in 1558, English ships began encroaching in an area that had primarily belonged to the Spanish. With the defeat of the Armada by the British in 1588, Spain's iron grip of the oceans began to loosen, and other nations, especially England, took advantage. For the next 50 years, Spain lost most of its naval prowess, the English slowly replacing the once mighty nation in the new Americas and elsewhere in the world.

_Pirates, Privateers and Letters of Marque_ - Although Elizabeth I publicly condemned piracy, she privately supported the act (as will be shown indirectly in this chapter, and more obviously in the chapters to follow). One way of waging the silent war for dominance against other naval powers was to issue 'letters of marque', which gave ships the legal power to raid others. Those who possessed these letters had the blessing of the issuing monarch, and were known as privateers, as Ran is in this story.

_Port Royal, Jamaica_ - Known as 'one of the wickedest places on earth', Port Royal was a nesting ground for criminals and the lower element when it was first established, and thus, provided the perfect place for Ran and his crew to rest. Established around 1650, the city has a disaster-ridden history. Originally governed by the Spanish, it was taken over by Admiral Penn and General Venables of England in 1655, another gain for the British as Spain slowly lost its monopoly on the Americas. However, on June 7, 1692, an earthquake that sent half the town beneath the seas hit Port Royal, providing the basis for wonderful stories of sunken pirate treasure since this place was rumoured to be where pirates stored their loot. Although it was rebuilt, disastrous fires in 1704 destroyed most of the city again, leaving nothing but old forts standing. For the purpose of this story, I've taken the liberty of playing with history and have established Port Royal as a city 50 years sooner than it's supposed to be (the story takes place in 1596, but I really thought the city suited my needs so I used it!).

(***)

  
Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past

"Captain?"

No response.

"Captain, I brought you some food." Still hearing no answer, Ken pushed the cabin door open with his hip, his arms burdened with a heavy tray he'd taken from the mess hall. The captain hadn't eaten all day, and in Ken's philosophy, if the man was going to properly manage a ship, he needed proper nourishment. With the havoc wreaked by the storm, Ken hadn't seen the redhead rest since that brief but magical moment they'd shared the morning before. It was amazing how the man pushed himself beyond human limits.

Kicking the door closed behind him, Ken took several steps into the dimly lit room before his eyes fell on the slumped figure behind the desk. The soft glow from a nearby lantern painted an artful mélange of flickering shadows and light upon the sleeping man, casting him in an almost ethereal tableau. With his body reposing comfortably against the back of the chair and his head tilting slightly toward a shoulder, the usually calculating captain looked infinitely serene and at peace. Ken felt a gentle warmth begin to spread somewhere inside him at the sight but quickly dismissed it as he walked toward the slumbering man and placed the tray quietly on the side of the desk.

His arms now free, the brunette moved to rummage through one of the captain's chests, searching for a thin blanket he'd seen earlier when he'd been cleaning. Shuffling a few shirts aside, Ken easily found what he'd been looking for. He extracted it from beneath the other fabrics and shut the chest, a small breeze of soap and sea trailing in the wake. Ken closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the scent that he had come to identify as uniquely Ran's.

Standing up, he moved back toward the desk and carefully draped the blanket over the sleeping man, all the while, keeping the contact as feather-light as possible for fear of disturbing the redhead's much needed rest.

This hadn't been done out of concern, Ken reminded himself. He was supposed to be looking after the captain's needs, and that was exactly what he had done. Truly, there had been no other reason besides the strict adherence to his duties.

To prove the point to himself, Ken turned his attention to the disarray of brass implements and maps littered on the desk. He began to tidy up the mess when his gaze alighted on the navigational chart the captain had apparently been working on. Turning the map around so he could read it properly, Ken mentally finished the latitudinal and longitudinal calculations the captain had started.

So they were heading for Jamaica, were they?

Sparing the redhead a quick look, Ken picked up the quill and dipped it into the inkwell. Before long, the brunette was competently completing the charts his captain had been working on, his mind drifting into a state of tranquility at the mechanical movements of his hand and the lulling sound of the other man's soft breathing. He lost track of all place and time, his consciousness swimming in comforting ether that stretched toward eternity. It felt nice to read and write again, to have a quill resting between his fingers, to have something other than strategies for survival in his mind. It had been so long...

The sound of human movement snapped Ken from his peaceful trance. Glancing up at the captain, he noted that the man had shifted his position, causing the blanket to fall down to his waist. Putting down the quill, Ken moved over to reposition the covering and paused. As he began to draw the cloth up, his eyes fell upon a hint of gold peeking out from Ran's unbuttoned collar. Intrigued, the brunette leaned closer to see what looked like a ring hanging from a thin, indiscernible chain around the other man's neck: it was a signet ring, engraved with something resembling a family crest and a cursive 'F', Ken concluded. Although what a common pirate would be doing with something like that, he didn't know. Probably plundered it from a passing ship.

Pushing the nagging questions away, Ken tugged the blanket up once more, his arm stopping of its own accord when he started to pull away. Unsure of what compelled him, he reached up to gently brushed aside the errant locks of hair that covered the captain's forehead. His hand lingered by the side of the man's face, his whole being apparently entranced by the beauty that sat before him.

He looks so ... so vulnerable ... like he needs to be protected from all the evils of the world ... The thought flittered through Ken's head, its origin unknown but its meaning genuine.

Suppressing a sigh at the direction his mind was taking, the brunette dropped his hand and turned away. He reorganized the desk into some semblance of order and began to make his way to the door.

"Bring the tray out with you. I'm not hungry."

Ken halted at the voice, his arm stopped in mid-motion as he reached for the doorknob.

"You've been awake this whole time?" Ken asked without turning around.

"No, just for a little while." The younger man could have sworn he heard a teasing smile in those words but the idea of the captain smiling was just too surreal. Taking a deep breath, Ken pivoted around and strode back to retrieve the tray, feeling those piercing, violet eyes scrutinizing his every move.

"You should eat something. You haven't eaten all day," he said as he picked up the unwanted food. Out of sheer tiredness, he needed to break this stifling atmosphere, to disrupt this uncomfortable silence that always surrounded them, and if it meant speaking, then so be it.

Ran didn't answer, his eyes never leaving the former slave.

"So we're heading for Jamaica?" Ken asked, gesturing with his chin toward the maps on the desk, and wishing to divert the man's attention elsewhere.

Ran looked down at the desk and nodded. "Kingston first to drop off our cargo, then to Port Royal for some rest. The crew will need it since it's off to England after that." The captain then started digging through the papers Ken had just organized, causing the younger man to fight back an exasperated sigh.

"England. Your home?"

"Yes," Ran said distractedly, still rummaging through the newly created mess. It wasn't long before the redhead found what he was looking for. Glancing briefly at his charts, Ran raised his gaze up to meet Ken's. "You know how to read and write." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement of fact. "None of the crew does except for Kit. Where did you learn?" 

It was an innocent enough inquiry, but one Ken was reluctant to answer.

"My mother taught me," he replied simply.

"She was well-bred then? Because that would explain why your manners are impeccable." 

The brunette nodded. "Yes, sir." He didn't like where this conversation was headed; the uneasiness that was slowly building up inside his chest prompted him to change the subject. "That's a very interesting ring, Captain."

Ran looked puzzled for a moment, whether by the sudden change in topic or the topic itself, Ken didn't know. Then, realization set in.

"Yes, thank you ... it was my father's ... " the redhead responded nonchalantly as his hand moved to tuck the said object under the shirt and out of sight.

Again, silence. And again, Ken nursed an urge to leave.

"If that will be all, Captain," he said as he looked away and began to move toward the exit, tray in hand.

He had almost made it out when he heard the older man say, "She must have been a remarkable woman, your mother."

Ken felt his body stiffen involuntarily, and his eyes lose focus for a moment. Still facing the door, he replied in a voice that was emotionless, toneless, ... and dead. "Yes, she was ... right up until the moment she hanged herself."

With that, Ken balanced his load on one arm, opened the door, and stepped out, leaving nothing but a stunned Ran in his wake.

(***)

'What had happened last night?' Ken wondered as he leaned against the rail, staring out at an endless stretch of ocean. The sun was still at its zenith, which produced an almost painful glare should one stare too long at the waters, but Ken couldn't help being drawn to the calming sight. It gave him a sense of temporary peace, however illusory and however brief.

Yet now, even as he watched the serene lapping of the sea, his words from last night still echoed in his head. Why had he revealed so much? And why to 'him'? It wasn't as if they were friends; the man was his captain and that was the extent of it. Wasn't it?

He had been relieved this morning to learn that Ran hadn't required his services, leaving him to go about other duties with a lighter step. If he had been forced to endure the redhead's close proximity, he was certain the indescribable tension between them would have been stronger than usual. But he couldn't avoid the man forever. After all, they were on a ship, and there was his position to consider.

"Hey, Boy, what are you up to?"

The voice that came from behind him caused Ken to look over his shoulder. When he saw who it was, he returned his eyes to the sea.

"Tippy, Mr. Mumbles," the brunette greeted as the muscled shipmate and his companion, an equally built, former African slave, joined him at the railing, each man standing on one side. "How are you two?"

Ken spared a glance to his left at the sandy-haired sailor with the tendency to overindulge in rum.

"Fine," Tippy replied.

Mr. Mumbles merely nodded, but the warm smile he had on his broad face was answer enough. Ken watched the dark-skinned man with a small smile of his own, for he couldn't help but do so at the friendliness exuded by a fellow former slave. Mr. Mumbles had been a slave for countless years, though none of the crew know how many. He had been sold from master to master, many of who had been cruel and demanding, one so much so that he'd actually cut out the African's tongue in a fit of anger. No one knew the man's real name, his age, or anything about him since he now had no voice but one thing was clear: the man loved working aboard this ship, and he equally loved working for the captain. The crew had dubbed him "Mr. Mumbles" on account of him being unable to speak, but the former slave didn't mind. In fact, Ken thought the large man rather liked it.

"You were thinking of him, weren't you?"

Ken whipped his head back to Tippy, a defensive tone weaving its way into his voice. "Who?"

Tippy smiled, his weathered skin showing the abuse of years at sea. "The captain, Boy."

"No, I wasn't. Why would I be thinking about him?"

Ken heard Mr. Mumbles chuckle softly from his right side.

Tippy shook his head good-humouredly. "It's there for everyone to see. The way the captain looks at you, the way you act around him ... I've never seen anything so obvious. And besides, it's nice to see the captain so taken with someone, though he may not show it. He tries to hide it too, but old Tippy here can see what's going on." The man patted his own chest for emphasis and Ken saw Mr. Mumbles nod from the corner of his eye.

"I - I don't know w-what you're talking about, Tippy. I mean, I don't ..."

"Look, Boy. I've been around long enough to see attraction for what it is and when it's as obvious as this ..." When Ken didn't say anything, the older man continued, his tone now suddenly serious "We're sailors, Ken, and that means there's a bond that forms between each and everyone of us. But sometimes, something deeper develops. It's bound to happen when you depend on your comrades for your very survival. Out here, when things get rough and your life hangs in the balance, you have no one to rely on but yourself and your shipmates. That's what brings us closer, some in friendship, and others in a deeper bond."

Ken remained silent for a moment, hearing the words but unable to process them properly. And then, "Since when did you become so wise and well-spoken, Tippy? It wasn't too long ago that I heard you talk about taking a pretty wench to bed once we dock."

Tippy actually had the decency to blush, although it was barely noticeable beneath the man's tanned skin.

Yes, he'd changed to subject of conversation again. He seemed to be doing much of that lately but he wasn't comfortable with where the words had been straying.

'Why?' A small voice asked inside his head. 'Because it touches on the truth? Because this pirate can see what you can't?'

Ken closed his eyes briefly in hopes of quieting the voice, but a shout from the crow's nest caused all three sailors to turn their attention up at the source of the yell.

"A ship's been sighted," Tippy muttered as he looked in the direction indicated by the crewman sitting above the mast.

Ken should have looked as well, but oddly, his eyes were riveted as the captain appeared and strode purposefully onto the quarterdeck toward Kit.

"What colours are they flying, Kit?" Ken heard the redhead ask.

"Looks like Spanish, Captain." Kit handed his spyglass over to Ran, waiting for further instructions.

Taking the brass instrument from the first mate, Ran peered through the glass, his expression remaining impassive as he asked, "Do we have any more room in the hold, Kit?"

"Of course," Kit grinned mischievously like a little boy about to unwrap a gift.

Ran handed the spyglass back to the older man. "Then prepare to change course. I don't think the men would mind a small detour."

A collective shout of approval came from the crewmen who had heard the order, the overall mood of the ship suddenly charged with anticipation.

Ken watched, unmoving, as the captain headed back to his cabin, undoubtedly to retrieve his weapons, and that only meant his presence would be required.

"Nothing but a common pirate," Ken mumbled as he straightened and left his companions.

(***)

Ken leaned against the main mast as he observed the rest of the crew scurry about the deck, readying their weapons and shouting words of eagerness. All in all, it was organized chaos, the anticipation and excitement of upcoming events heavily saturating the very air they breathed. He heard the scrambling of bodies below deck too, in all likelihood, men setting up the cannons and little powder monkeys hurriedly delivering gunpowder.

"Alright men! We're going by for one good volley and then we're boarding." 

Ken looked up to where the captain stood in his usual spot on the quarterdeck, the redhead's commands making its way to every crewmember's ears. Even though Kit had mentioned that Ran boasted a letter of marque from England, Ken still saw no distinction between these privateering ways and the actions of a pirate. Nevertheless, Ran rallied his men effectively, his unique combination of charisma and leadership drawing even him into the excitement of events to come.

The moments prior, when he had helped the older man retrieve his weapons, had been uncomfortable, but surprisingly, no more so than normal. Perhaps the thoughts of the imminent attack had diverted him or perhaps the captain had chosen not to dwell on what he'd revealed last night. Whichever it was, Ken didn't argue.

But now ... Ran made a formidable picture indeed, one that inspired untold pride and blind loyalty. Looking at the man this very moment with his pistol and sword at the ready, Ken began to see why poets and playwrights chose to immortalize heroic figures and their deeds in the music of words: they were simply awe-inspiring.

Ken's eyes guiltily traveled down the sleek lines of the captain's body, eventually coming to linger on the sword sheathed securely about the man's waist. He recalled when he'd taken that deadly blade out, its sheer beauty and lethalness complementing its owner perfectly. The style was rapier-like, Ken had concluded with his limited knowledge, the golden hilt balanced perfectly with the rest of the sword. But what had truly caught the brunette's attention was the blade itself, its size slightly wider than that of a common rapier, forged with what felt like Toledo steel and honed to be intriguingly double-edged. Ken had never seen such a finely crafted weapon but when he'd held it, he had known that only Ran could wield such a masterpiece.

Snapping out of his recollection, Ken returned his attention to the events at hand, only to feel an all-too-familiar gaze boring into him. He looked up into questioning gems of amethyst fire, and for an instant, he felt trapped in their alluring magic. But strangely enough, he was comforted by this, and nodded his head to wordlessly let the other man know that he was ready.

With Ken's affirmation, the captain looked away, leaving the brunette to prepare himself for the upcoming fight. His hands tightened around the hilt of his own sheathed sword and he could sense his body tensing up in anticipation. His breathing became shallower, quicker, and he heard his blood pumping through his ears. Yes, he was ready...

As the Redemption neared the larger Spanish vessel, Ken noted the sudden increase in speed that made it appear as if they were going to ram dead on into the other ship. He heard the cannon volleys from the Spaniards, angry blasts that foretold numerous deaths and injuries, but none seemed to connect. Suddenly, the Redemption lurched and fired her own volley as it swept alongside her less maneuverable enemy. Ken heard the violent shouts, smelled the acrid smoke, and registered his shipmates' need for assistance. Setting his body into motion, he rushed over to help the others with the grappling hooks.

It wasn't long before the crew of the Redemption had their lines dug well into the Spanish ship, men boarding their prey with an overabundance of enthusiasm. Ken watched as the captain swung across to join Kit and the more daring of his men, his sword gracefully extracted the moment he set foot onto the other vessel. Diving recklessly into the ensuing fight, Ran moved with a fluidity that defied normal convention. From each perfectly executed parry to each aggressive riposte, the redhead's movements appeared to be the epitome of lethalness and poetry, causing Ken to hold his breath at the sheer beauty of it all.

Then, he lost sight of Ran, black smoke and human bodies obscuring his view. And it was then that a sudden panic seized him, an inexplicable fear of losing the young captain gripping and constricting his chest. He couldn't think. He just knew he had to get over there, and he had to get over there now! Without considering the consequences, Ken quickly found a hanging rope, and swung over, the passing sense of weightlessness unnoticed when compared to the consuming need to protect Ran.

(***)

Ran sensed him before he saw him: Ken had come aboard. Easily deflecting a forward thrust, Ran used his opponent's momentum to his advantage and jabbed his sword straight into the Spaniard's chest as he sidestepped the lunging body. He paid no attention to the sticky warmth that lovingly dripped onto his hand, his senses immediately and instinctively seeking out Ken instead.

'Damnit, why'd he have to come aboard? It's not safe here.' Ran knew he shouldn't care so much. To be so concerned over a crewmember was not the norm and definitely not in his personal philosophy. But when it came to the brunette, he couldn't seem to summon any part of his rational mind, even if he wanted to. He always lost his grasp of logic whenever the former slave was involved.

Steel upon steel, flesh upon flesh, sounds of violence and sights of man's animalistic nature greeted Ran as he skirted about fighting bodies and moved toward the bow. He hadn't seen Ken since that brief glimpse when the younger man had swung aboard. Jumping over a fallen body, Ran was finally rewarded when he saw the object of his search. Ken was engaged in a skirmish with a uniformed officer, the Spaniard's attacks coming out skilled and disciplined. Luckily, though it didn't do much to ease Ran's anxiety, Ken countered each aggressive move without too much effort, his maneuvers confident and competent more that just competent, in fact.

"Captain!"

He was oblivious of the blade that came at him and if it hadn't been for Kit's warning, he might have very well taken the sword through the throat. As it was, Ran managed to twist away from his new opponent, the deadly metal kissing the side of his neck. Not wanting to give the man another chance to attack, especially when all his thoughts remained unfocused, the young captain quickly drew out his pistol and shot his would-be murderer pointblank in the chest.

The thump of a falling corpse and the lingering smell of gunpowder shook him from his momentary lapse.

What had he been thinking? He was ten times a fool: to be distracted like that in the middle of a life and death situation was completely unforgivable. To lose all sense of rational thought was akin to losing the respect and admiration he'd worked so hard to gain from the crew. It should never happen again it would never happen again, not if he could help it.

Desperate to end this skirmish and eager to refocus his priorities, he scanned the deck until his eyes finally found what he'd been looking for. If the regal bearing and the air of command didn't give the Spanish captain away, then the gold epaulets and richly marked sword did. Ran closed the distance between them in an instant, his hand gripping the handle of his recently discharged gun a little more firmly. Never mind that he hadn't reloaded, he just wanted to end this and if that meant taking a gamble, then he would gladly do so.

He approached the olive-skinned man from behind without much difficulty, the other captain conveniently occupied by one of Ran's men.

"I'd stop now if I were you, Capitán," Ran shouted as he pressed his pistol threateningly to the back of the other man's head. The Spaniard froze, his sword arm stilling in mid-thrust. Ran dug the point of his useless gun harder against the other man's scalp. "Now, drop your weapon and yield."

The dark-haired man pause for a moment and Ran tightened his free hand around his sword in case his bluff was discovered. But the Spanish captain reluctantly gave up, his wrist going limp and his body slowly bending down to drop his weapon.

"Now, call off your men." Ran's voice hinted of no emotion, resonating still with authority and purpose. He jammed his pistol once more to emphasize his demand and his counterpart bellowed a few harsh orders to his men. The sound of sword fighting and shouting took a moment to cease, the silence slowly winding its way throughout the ship once the sailors looked over at the precarious situation of the two captains.

"My men! Tie up our dear hosts and see what prizes we've won. Bring them back to the Redemption for Kit to divvy up!" Ran's commands met with a victorious shout as his crew scrambled to fulfill their captain's order, their energized movements still retaining the remnants of the bloodlust they'd just experienced.

In an act of proper and honourable conduct, Ran's captive slowly bent down, picked up his sword, and handed it to the redhead, hilt first. The young captain nodded his acknowledgement, dropping his own pistol and taking the offered weapon. Dark, defeated eyes clashed with shining, violet ones, and Ran understood the frustration and humiliation the other man was feeling; he would feel the same if he had to yield the Redemption to anyone.

"Thank you, Capitán. And please, give my regards to King Philip." Ran smiled inwardly at his veiled insult as the Spaniard walked away to tend to his crew. There was no fear of retaliation. If the actions of the other captain had been any indication, honour and protocol would be followed.

"Captain, I'm heading back over," Kit's voice floated to Ran's ears. He glanced behind him to see his first mate looking a little exhausted but thankfully uninjured.

Ran was about to give his approval when he saw Ken approach. Instead, he just nodded his head in Kit's direction and turned away from the brunette. He heard Kit depart but the lighter footsteps that continued to move closer could only be Ken's.

He had to ignore him. The lesson he had learned just moments ago should've been enough to teach him the folly of allowing someone to distract him from his duties. He was the captain of the Redemption and as such, must never show and must never have any weaknesses. And Ken, he knew, had come close to becoming a fatal weakness.

'Well, never again.' He vowed to himself.

"Captain, if there's nothing else, I will return as well."

"No, there's nothing else. Go back to the Redemption," Ran replied harshly, keeping his gaze on the actions of the rest of his crew. 'Focus on anything but him, focus on ...'

A featherlike caress on his neck caused him to jerk back, accusing eyes turning to meet Ken's concerned ones.

"You're injured, Captain," Ken said softly.

It was then that Ran felt a stinging on the side of his neck. Tentatively bringing his fingers up to touch the wound, his fingers came away smeared red with his own blood - another reminder of how close he'd come to losing everything all because of some foolish obsession.

Ken's gentle gaze still remained on him. "Let me take a look at it ..."

"No, I'm fine. Just get back to the ship." Ran shook the younger man's attentions off and walked away, but not before catching sight of shock - and a flash of hurt - reflected on the former slave's face.

'Never again.' Ran reminded himself as he steeled his thoughts. 'Never again ...'

(***)

_Port Royal, Jamaica_

Ran raised his glass with the rest of his men as they saluted another successful run. Although his face remained impassive, he enjoyed the rowdy cheers that echoed through the tavern. Taking a swig of his drink, his eyes scanned the dark tavern: with its lusty barmaids, filthy accommodations, and even filthier clientele, this tavern fit perfectly into the town they called 'one of the wickedest places on earth'. As the bitter liquid trickled down his throat, Ran saw Ken sitting off in a corner, immersed in conversation with another crewman. As if sensing the weight of a lover's gaze, the brunette turned his attention away from his comrade to meet Ran's eyes. But the captain quickly looked away. Ken was a part of his crew like all the others, and did not deserve any special treatment.

Just then, a flurry of blond curls and supple flesh plopped down onto his lap, assaulting his senses with the clinging odor of lust and cheap perfume. 

"Why, Capitaine, it has been so long," the cloyingly high-pitched voice exclaimed as the woman twined her arms around Ran's neck.

The redhead looked up into limpid blue eyes embedded on a face that had seen too much hardship. Sometimes he wondered if the dim lighting was due to the tavern owner's frugal nature with wax and lamp oil or the need to hide the less than beautiful faces of his whores. 

"Amalie," the captain acknowledged the buxom woman, not particularly caring at the moment where the French prostitute had just been. She was a diversion and she was just what he needed.

"I bet you missed me, didn't you, mon cher?" Amalie pouted, her overly rouged lips forming a practiced pucker that was meant to invite a kiss.

Ran complied, pulling the woman down for a sultry kiss that had some of his men whooping. "Of course I missed you," he replied as he moved away, willing to play along with the game. He had to fight the slight disgust that rose in his throat at the taste of ale and sex that lingered on his lips. "With something as beautiful as you, why wouldn't I?"

Amalie giggled, and pressed her breasts against Ran. "You are such a tease, mon Capitaine."

And Ran took the invitation, bending his head down to leave a trail of kisses along the soft globes of flesh that threatened to fall out of the woman's plunging neckline.

Although he told himself he would enjoy this, he knew why he was truly doing it. He knew that Ken was still watching. He knew that if he took this woman, Ken would not look at him with those soulful brown eyes the same way again. He knew that if that were the case, it would be easier to detach himself from the brunette. He knew that he had to convince Ken he felt nothing for him. But most importantly, he knew that he had to convince himself.

(***)

Ken ran along the dockside, eager to get away from the stifling heat of the tavern that had nearly choked all the air from his lungs. Having told Tippy that he needed to go back to the ship, he'd quickly left the bar without looking back. But even now, moving through the slightly cooler evening air, he had a difficult time breathing. His footsteps echoed down the dark walkway but the human emptiness of his surroundings couldn't seem to match the unexplained hollowness inside his chest. Why did images of Ran with that woman invade his senses so much? Why did he even care?

It was a common enough sight: sailors coming into port after a hard journey and finding the first available wench to assuage their needs. And the Redemption had had an eventful voyage indeed. After the attack, the ship had sailed into Kingston to drop off her cargo ... for the Spanish Governor, Ran had wickedly explained to his crew. From there, they'd moved across the harbour into Port Royal for several days of relaxation before heading off to England. Another legitimate run, Ran had claimed.

So after such a trip and with the upcoming journey, it was no surprise that the men would enjoy themselves here as much as they could. But the idea of Ran with that woman ... Ken stopped running and closed his eyes to block out the image. Somehow, he'd thought Ran was different. Somehow, he'd thought Ran had liked ...

'Enough of this!' Ken scolded himself. 'Since when have things been easy for you? Just take things as they come. Never get your hopes up.' It was a reminder he hadn't had to say to himself since he'd boarded the Redemption. He guessed it was time now.

Taking a deep breath of muggy ocean air, Ken opened his eyes and forced his body to relax. He looked around him at the looming silhouettes of moored ships that floated serenely before him, their crews undoubtedly taking advantage of the pleasures Port Royal had to offer.

And then he froze.

It couldn't be ... not here ... not now. Ken's heart quickened at the moonlit sight in front of him - the majestic lines, the sleek hull, the proud figurehead

"It can't be the 'Valiant' ... it can't be, not here," Ken whispered desperately as he stared at the compact clipper that was moored just a stone's throw from him.

"But it is, Ken love. It is."

Ken felt a shiver run down his spine at the answering whisper and the light touch on the base of his neck that followed. 

"I've missed you, Ken." The whispered voice continued, the newcomer's fingers slowly stroking the scar on his neck. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Ken didn't need to look to know who stood behind him. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as the overwhelming sensations of humiliation and helplessness flooded through his body. Mustering up what fortitude he still possessed, he turned around to meet the cold gaze of his worst nightmare.

"Crawford ... "

End Chapter 3  



	4. Treason

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 4: Treason _

Ken felt the clamminess of his own skin as the sultry Caribbean air stagnated around the two lone figures standing on the dock. The moon, being only half full tonight, provided enough light to illuminate part of Crawford's face, the resulting shadows highlighting a starkness in the man's expression that rivaled only the streak of cruelty buried in his gaze.

"Why are you here, Crawford?" Ken's voice came out low, and soft, but veiled an edge of wariness.

The man smiled coldly, his eyes black gems that glittered wickedly in the night. "You, of all people, should know what kind of place Port Royal is. Why wouldn't I be here?" In one smooth motion, he brought his hand up to cup the side of Ken's face and proceeded to slide his thumb gently along the brunette's cheek. "Come with me, Ken," he whispered seductively. "Back aboard the Valiant."

The words, the touch ... Ken closed his eyes, seemingly frozen on the spot. The words caressed him, fluttering against his conscious and initiating a shiver that danced down his spine, and the touch ... The touch of the textured thumb, tracing a path along his skin and bringing with it memories of suffocation, helplessness, and imprisonment. He had escaped ... yes, he had escaped from them, just as he had escaped from Crawford. As the reality of the situation finally hit Ken, he opened his eyes and jerked his head back violently, severing the hypnotic contact that Crawford had maintained.

"No," Ken said hoarsely. "No, you don't own me anymore." He glared at the other man, venom and hate in brown eyes that had hitherto been passive and yielding.

"Oh, yes, Ken," Crawford argued calmly as he took a step toward the younger man. "Yes, I do. You belonged to me the moment I won you at the gaming table."

The former slave backed up, and brushed the other man's hand away when he tried to touch him again. "But you forfeited your winnings the moment you broke your word," Ken spat, his breaths now coming out harshly and erratically.

"I never broke my word, Ken. You did." Crawford paused as his eyes drank in the image of the defensive young man before him. His voice softened to a more enticing tone. "Don't you want to see the inside of the Valiant again? Come, Ken, join me for a drink then, not as master and slave, but as old friends."

The brunette's eyes narrowed. "We were never friends."

Crawford's lips quirked up slightly. "Defiant as always, love. This is what I've always admired about you: your fire, your stubbornness ... you innocence. I never understood how you managed to stay so pure after everything you've seen. It's simply unbelievable." He leaned forward to touch Ken once more but this time, when the brunette batted his hand away, he lashed out with his other arm to cup the back of the younger man's neck and pulled him close. Before Ken had a chance to shake free, Crawford lowered his head and kissed him.

Hard, violent, possessive ... Ken felt it all as the man ground their lips together and like a little boy fighting against imaginary demons, he felt helpless and weak. He had been here too many times, and he had fought too many times to not know the futility of it all. Memories, mental portraits of moments past latched onto him, chaining him again to the person he had once been - a slave, nothing more and nothing less. He hated it; he hated what he used to be. That was why he had escaped ...

Escape? Freedom? Was he free? No, not yet. But it was possible. Ran had promised him freedom one day ... Ran ... yes, Ran had promised ...

Digging up what strength still remained in him, Ken pushed himself away from the other man and stumbled back a few steps. As he tried to regain his breath, he brought his hand up to wipe Crawford's taste from his lips. That done, he raised his steady gaze toward his opponent. "Don't you ever come near me again. I was never yours and never will be."

With that, Ken turned around and ran, moving as fast as he could from the unreadable man who had once been his captor, and the damned memories that had once been his shackles.

(***)

Crawford watched, amused as his former slave ran off into the night. His eyes twinkled at the opportunity that Fate had once again thrown his way.

"No, you're wrong, Ken. You belonged to me once and you will belong to me again." He licked his lips slowly, enjoying the taste of Ken's sweetness that still lingered there. 

He remembered when he had first seen the boy three years ago, all innocence and light in a world that tainted such things the moment they were born. But Ken was strong, Crawford knew, and it was this unique combination of strength and purity that had drawn him to the boy. He wanted to own it, to revel and bask in this rare essence that he had discovered. He had done everything back then to obtain him, as he would do anything now to get Ken again.

Crawford turned to face the unseen presence that had been hovering behind him in the darkness the whole time.

"Are you going to come out now, Schuldich?"

"Who was that?" the younger man asked as he approached, eyes that would have flashed green had there been more light straying in the direction Ken had ran.

"Someone before your time."

Schuldich turned his attention back to the captain of the Valiant, expecting more of an explanation but not receiving one.

"I want you to follow him, Schuldich. I want you to find out where he's staying, whom he's with and what he's doing. Report everything you can find out about him back to me, understand?"

Crawford saw the questions hovering in the other man's face, but wasn't in the mood to answer them.

"Why - ?"

"Just go, Schuldich. Follow him and find out what you can." The captain's demands pre-empted any more inquiries that the newcomer wanted to ask. Seeing that he wasn't going to get any more information, Schuldich nodded and started off in the direction that Ken had taken.

Crawford's gaze drifted toward the departing figure, a hint of burnished red indicating the distance the younger man had covered as the weak moonlight reflected off his mane of fiery hair. He had complete confidence in Schuldich's abilities; ever since that fateful day over two years ago when he had found the redhead stowed away in the hold of his ship, he had gained a loyal follower. Crawford didn't know exactly why he had let the young man stay aboard that day or why he hadn't thrown the then boy overboard and be done with it. Perhaps it had to do with something in Schuldich's eyes on the day of his discovery, an untold sense of challenge and ruthlessness that had intrigued him. Thus, he had let the redhead stay on board, not asking questions about the stowaway's past and gaining a valuable crewman in the process.

No, he had no doubts that Schuldich would find him the leverage he needed to get Ken back ... none at all.

(***)

His lungs were burning. His sides were cramping. His legs were screaming. But Ken ignored his body's protests as he continued to run. He couldn't stop; he had to get away, get as far away from 'him' as he could. Hearing the grating of his own breath echo in his ears, he felt relief flood through him as the Redemption came into view. Yet, he didn't stop running until he was on board the ship, scanning the deserted decks for any signs of life to ease the inexplicable apprehension he felt.

Placing a hand against the main mast to steady himself, he noticed that he was still shaking. He needed human contact, he needed someone nearby so he didn't feel so alone, ... and he needed to feel safe. He started walking up along the deck, searching for any shipmates who might have opted to stay aboard but found no one. Sighing quietly, he stopped his little quest, and realized where he was. Unknowingly, he had made his way to Ran's cabin, the wooden door hanging on its hinges waiting for him to open it. And open it he did, his hand grasping the knob like a lifeline the moment it made contact. Stepping into the room, Ken didn't even bother lighting a lamp: he knew where everything was in this cabin, its familiarity almost comforting in his uneasy state. 

Struggling beams of moonlight made their way in through the windows, casting the captain's desk into a small pool of white light that ultimately ceded dominance to the encroaching darkness. It was like an island amidst a sea of black, a nicely lit sanctuary that offered surcease from the unending night. Yet, Ken didn't head toward the desk, opting instead to wander through the darkness to the captain's bed. Ran liked his luxuries: the windows, the feather mattress ... and Ken didn't mind at all as he sat down on the pleasant softness. The silence, which before had been oppressing, now filled him with a sense of peace, and as his unwanted encounter with Crawford slowly receded into the depths of his mind, he laid himself down on the bed, letting the welcoming spice of Ran's scent enfold him as his head touched the pillow. He felt calmer now, less edgy, more relaxed. And when he started to drift off into sleep, he could have sworn he heard that little voice inside him say that he felt safe too.

(***)

Ken awoke to the jangling of the doorknob as someone made a clumsy attempt at opening the door. Still slightly blurry-eyed, he rose and padded over to let whoever was outside in, but was shocked into silence when Ran stumbled through the doorway, none too steady on his feet. Even in the darkness, Ken could make out the redhead's tall, lithe frame, which wound its way haphazardly toward the lamp on the desk, completely oblivious of the room's previous occupant. After several failed attempts at lighting the thing and numerous curses, Ken took pity on the man and moved to help.

"Here, let me," he said as he approached the captain. This close, he could smell the cloying scent of a woman's perfume mixed with the fermenting stench of alcohol on the redhead, and he fought hard not to gag at the offending odour. Within seconds, Ken had the lamp lit, its small flame spreading a warm glow throughout the cabin.

"I didn't need your help," grumbled Ran as he leaned against the desk for support and stared at the brunette through half-lidded eyes. "I don't need you. I could've done it alone. I do everything alone ... " His words were becoming more slurred as he continued to talk and Ken knew he should get the drunken redhead to bed. He certainly didn't envy the captain when he woke up tomorrow morning.

"Come, Captain. You should get some sleep." The brunette moved to lead Ran toward the bed but was abruptly shaken off.

"Didn't you hear what I just said? I don't need your help!" With that, the older man pushed himself off the desk and attempted to walk towards his mattress. His steps were unsteady as he wove his way across the cabin. Partway there, he stumbled and Ken rushed to catch him.

"Captain, you're drunk. Let me ..." The former slave paused when he felt the other man's body tense beneath his hands.

"No," the redhead said stubbornly. And then, his tone changed, becoming lighter and more taunting. "I can make it ... unless ... unless you'd like to join me?"

It was Ken's turn to stiffen now as he released his supporting hold on Ran.

The young captain smiled, its leering quality oddly unsettling on the usually austere man's face. "Come, Ken, Amalie wasn't nearly as much fun as I thought she'd be. And I'm not tired yet. Beside, why do you think I bought you?"

Before Ken knew what was happening, he had balled his right hand into a fist and punched the captain hard across the face. The resounding crunch that followed hung in the stillness between the two for a moment, permitting both men to soak in what had just occurred. Ken knew his action was one of complete insubordination and would undoubtedly pay for it tomorrow, but those words ... he had never thought to hear them from Ran's mouth.

Instead of retaliating, Ran chuckled softly as he brought his hand up to rub his abused jaw. "Amalie may not have been able to tire me out, but I'm sure you will."

Ken suppressed an urge to hit the man again. "Go play with your whores then, Captain," Ken ground out, silently commending himself for keeping his voice so steady. "Like you said, you don't need me."

That mentioned, he made his way toward the exit, desperately wanting to get as far away from Ran as quickly as possible. Upon reaching the doorway though, he stopped. "But let me tell you one thing, Sir. I've seen too many men brought down by a single woman. I'd watch out if I were you."

He didn't stay to take in the other man's reaction. What the redhead did was his own business and had nothing to do with him. He was just a crewman, a former slave who merely obeyed a captain's orders. And that he would do, without fault. After all, it wasn't as if he cared.

(***)

The ocean stretched out endlessly into the horizon, the clear, soothing blue of the sky meeting the equally clear, reflective vastness of the sea in an almost imperceptible line. Ran watched the unchanging scene through his cabin's windows, his thoughts scattering both as high as the heavens and as deep as the ocean before him. There had been too many things to occupy his mind these past several days, the most prominent of which concerned a particularly withdrawn brunette.

It had been ten days now since that night in Port Royal, ten days of strained talk and terse commands, ten days since he'd pushed Ken away. Not being as drunk as he had pretended, he recalled that night clearly. And he remembered the look of anger and disgust on the younger man's face as he taunted and insulted. But it had accomplished what he wanted: they were just captain and crewman now, Ran giving orders authoritatively and Ken taking them obediently. Even when they had cast off two days ago, barely ten words had been exchanged between them. It was better this way, and whenever he found himself feeling inexplicably more content in the former slave's presence, he ignored it, dismissing it as if it were nothing more than a common annoyance.

A knock at his door pulled Ran from his thoughts.

"Come in," he said loudly, enough to be heard through the wood. He turned around to face the newcomer, wondering what needed his attention this time.

"Captain." Kit nodded as he walked in, easing the door closed behind him. His eyes held a serious look, a far cry from the usual merriment that glittered there. "Ran ..." he continued.

The redhead tensed at the first mate's use of his given name. Whenever Kit used it, the business at hand was more of a personal nature rather than official.

"What is it, Kit?"

The older man walked further into the room, his gaze not leaving the figure of the intimidating captain. Kit was one of the very few people on this ship who dared to approach Ran like this.

"Something's wrong with you, isn't there?" the first mate asked as he stopped a few steps away.

"No, there isn't. Why do you ask?" Ran replied calmly. "Has there been something wrong with my performance as captain?"

Kit let out a small sigh. "Don't deny it, Ran. The crew may no see it but I do. I've known you since you were born, so as hard as you may try to hide it, I know when something's bothering you."

Ran turned around, returning his gaze to the sea, unable to look at his father's old friend when he knew the older man was right.

"It doesn't happen to do with a certain brunette, does it, Ran? Because he's been acting strangely these past few days as well."

"No." The denial came almost too quickly, and Ran took a breath before responding a little more slowly. "No, it has nothing to do with him, Kit. I can't be bothered with minor issues like that."

The first mate didn't answer immediately. And then, "Is it about tomorrow?"

Ran closed his eyes at the mention of the next day's significance. No, he hadn't forgotten what tomorrow was.

"Perhaps ... how could I forget?" His voice was softer now, full of guilt and regret. "It'll be exactly ten years tomorrow, won't it, Kit?" He asked rhetorically, opening his eyes and swallowing the small lump that had formed in his throat.

"Ran, you shouldn't dwell on it. You were so young then ... "

The captain shook is head. "No, I try not to dwell on it but there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about him."

Out of respect, Kit remained silent as he watched the defeated tilt of Ran's head. "He would have been proud of you, Ran."

The redhead smiled an empty smile. "Proud? What's there to be proud of? A coward of a son who ran away from everything he stood for?"

"But look at everything you've accomplished. Look at - "

"Yet it can't hide the truth, Kit," the younger man retorted. "For ten years, I've been running. I still am. No matter how much wealth I gain, no matter how much respect I win, I'm just a coward running away from my own crimes." Stopping for a moment, Ran turned around to face the man who had watched him grow up. "I never paid for my crimes, Kit. And that, I think, is the cruelest punishment of all."

The first mate watched the proud young captain with a heart full of sympathy and sincerity. He wanted to hold the redhead as he had used to when the latter had been a boy but now, Ran would just shrug him off.

"Ran, it wasn't your fault. You were - " He never got a chance to finish his sentence. A shout from outside followed by the sound of cannon fire brought both men back to the present.

Instantly resuming his captain's role, Ran straightened and marched out of the cabin with an impenetrable look on his face. Kit followed, still surprised at how quick the redhead could change facades even after witnessing it for so many years.

(***)

Ken was helping Tippy mend the sails when he heard the shout and the cannon fire. Almost all at once, sailors dropped what they were doing, some rushing to grab weapons while others ran to see whom the opponent was.

Ran and Kit soon walked onto the deck, the former immediately demanding a spyglass to determine the identity of the attackers. Ken felt a rush of emotions at the sight of the captain: he knew he should hate the man, especially with what he had said that night, but against his better judgment, he couldn't help but still be drawn to him, dangerous as that may be. Despite everything, Ran continued to command respect and admiration, and Ken inexplicably felt those emotions mixing vigorously with his hate, masking it out altogether.

"Should we prepare to attack, Captain?" Ken heard someone shout.

"No," came the captain's firm answer. "It's British Navy, and they just fired a warning shot. Kit, raise a white flag." 

"Aye, Captain," the first mate nodded and moved to comply.

It wasn't long before the English vessel sailed up alongside the Redemption, its slightly larger size seemingly overwhelming an already formidable ship. With the speed and maneuverability the new ship had just displayed, Ken now understood how these British clippers had defeated their larger Spanish counterparts and now, dominated the seas.

The air on the Redemption was tense as the English captain, a man looking to be well into his middle years, and three of his officers boarded. Sailors with weapons tightened their hold on them and others looked ready to pounce at the smallest provocation. All were on edge and all were tempered only by Ran's restraining presence.

Ran and Kit moved down to mid-ship to meet their visitors, and Ken shoved his way close enough to hear the proceedings.

"Captain Randall Fielding?" The British captain asked with an aristocratic accent.

Ran nodded, wariness evident in his expression.

"You are hereby under arrest for treason against Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, by the Grace of God, Queen of England, France, and Ireland, and of Virginia, Defender of the Faith."

Cries of denial, and shouts of protest rang out among the crew, some even cursing the English bastards with crudely colourful insults.

"There must be some mistake," insisted Kit as he glared at the other captain.

"Rest assured, there is none," maintained the Englishman, voice steely and strong.

"But the captain hasn't - "

"I will go with you." Ran's simple sentence cut off the rest of Kit's, and silenced the whole crew.

The first mate turned to his captain. "Captain, I ..." He stopped when he saw the haunted look in the younger man's eyes. "Ran ... " he whispered.

The redhead ignored him. Instead, he stared unwaveringly at the English captain. "Sir, as a man of honour, I ask that you permit my ship and crew to remain free."

The older Englishman considered the request for a moment. "I apologize, Captain Fielding but I can not allow it. However, I will place Lieutenant Smythe in charge here until we reach England, upon which time, the fate of this ship and crew will be decided."

Ran nodded, accepting this provision.

Ken watched, stunned as one of the officers produced a pair of shackles and moved to secure them around the young captain's wrists.

This wasn't right. Ran didn't ... Ran didn't belong in chains.

As they began to lead the redhead back aboard the other ship, Ken pushed himself to catch up with the small procession.

"Ran!" Not 'Captain', or 'Sir', but just 'Ran'. The name had come out of Ken's mouth before he could stop it, and yet, it had felt nice to have it roll off his tongue.

The young captain paused, and turned to meet Ken's gaze. Whatever words the brunette had wanted to say disappeared in that one look. He was tired, Ran's eyes said. Tired of what, Ken didn't know but the fire in those violet depths had died, and he suddenly found himself inwardly mourning the loss.

With a firm push from behind, Ran continued walking, and soon, the once proud captain of the Redemption was gone.

Ken stood by the rail in disbelief as the other ship cast off her hooks and began to sail away, the redheaded captain now probably firmly ensconced in her hold.

Ran didn't belong there. Just like that look of defeat didn't belong on his face. He belonged here, commanding the Redemption, confident and strong. But that last image of Ran was branded deep into Ken's mind, and he desperately needed to erase it.

Behind him, the brunette heard the British lieutenant left on board issue orders to the crew to follow the other ship but no one moved, whether out of surprise at what had just happened or out of hatred for what the Englishman represented, Ken didn't know.

Ran was gone. The phrase repeated itself over and over again in his head as he watched the English ship sail further away. Ran can't be gone ...

Back stiffening and hands clenching in resolve, Ken turned around and walked purposefully toward Kit, whose stunned expression mirrored what Ken's had been just moments ago. 

"Kit," Ken's voice rang out with an authority he hadn't used in years. "Prepare to set sail. I don't care if we have to break into the Tower of London or bloody beg Queen Elizabeth herself, but we're getting him out of there."

The first mate glanced at Ken with a look of surprise, and then he nodded, a small smile working its way onto his lips. Suddenly, the whole crew moved into action, preparing to chase after their captain while a flabbergasted Lieutenant Smythe stood in their midst.

  
End Chapter 4


	5. In the Presence of Greatness

_Historical notes: (totally optional, and won't affect reading of fic!) _

_London Bridge_: One of London's most admired landmarks during the time of this fic, heads of traitors were stuck on pikes over the gatehouse to warn those of what would happen should they oppose the British crown. At times, heads counted up to a maximum of 35 at one time. Foreign dignitaries and visitors often commented on the usefulness of this method of deterrence, as the Bridge was such a high traffic area.

_Greenwich Palace_: Queen Elizabeth's court often traveled around and rested a few days at the different residences of her nobles. However, during the summer months when the Queen wasn't traveling, her favourite place of residence was Greenwich Palace. Born there in 1533, Elizabeth I preferred this place to her more elaborate homes such as Hampton Court, and Windsor Castle. The building itself was very asymmetrical in style and had been added onto by previous monarchs, including the Queen's father, Henry VIII. This, in turn, gave it a very 'British' look, far removed from the influences of the Renaissance.

_Robert Deveraux, Earl of Essex_: Although it was not been proven that Elizabeth had any lovers, she did have four major male 'favourites' during her reign. The first three, William Pickering, Christopher Hatton, and Robert Dudley, the Earl of Liecester (to whom she devoted over 30 years), all came before this story. During the period in which this story takes place, her current and last favourite was Robert Deveraux, the Earl of Essex. He was an arrogant and self-centered man and being almost forty years the Queen's junior, he tried to make himself a place in court. Despite his shortcomings, the Queen forgave him much, probably because he was a very handsome young gentleman, and Elizabeth always did have a soft spot for young, good-looking men (which bodes well for Ran and Ken, doesn't it? ^_^). However, in 1598, Essex publicly disputed with the Queen over the appointment of the Lord Deputy of Ireland, which caused him to fall out of favour. On February 25, 1601, after provoking a rising against the crown, the Queen's former favourite was executed.

(***)  
  
_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 5: In the Presence of Greatness_

_London, England  
1596_

The first thing Ken noticed about London was the smell. Standing on the quarterdeck of the Redemption as she coasted toward the docks, he had to force himself to take short, shallow breaths to avoid the gagging reflex that was triggered at the stench of discarded human refuse and decaying garbage. His eyes began to water at the effort and thus, he blinked rapidly in order to get a clear view at the city, one of the fastest growing political and commercial centers of Europe. Grey and dull were his first impressions of the place, the sun-deprived sky providing a complimenting backdrop to the muted browns of the buildings and the colourlessness of the overworked people. He had been told that London was a city of contrasts, because only here could one find the aristocratic townhouses belonging to bishops and nobility of the Strand a stone's throw from the open air, proletarian marketplace of Cheapside. And only here could one find the deceiving umbrella of an increasing political power masking an ever-growing criminal world - why else would the statuesque residences of the aristocracy mingle so closely with the dozen plus prisons that littered the city itself?

At the thought of prisons, Ken's mind immediately turned to Ran. It had been well over six weeks since he'd seen the redheaded captain being taken away in chains, an image that he'd tried to desperately but unsuccessfully erase from his memory. By his calculations, Ran should've arrived a good week before him, seeing as how the Redemption had met with a mid-Atlantic storm during the crossing. It had taken Ken a whole day to re-chart and re-navigate their route, by which time, the British naval ship they had been tailing had sailed beyond the horizon. That, and the daily hour-long arguments with Lieutenant Smythe over the proper sailing of the ship had frayed the brunette's nerves to no end; he just wanted his captain back, and every second they spent bickering over such petty details meant that Ran would be locked up that much longer. Only when the whole crew had refused to work unless it was under Kit or Ken's directions did the lieutenant finally accede defeat and let Ken take over. But still, he had lost so much time and Ran was probably locked away right now in one of the numerous prisons that London city boasted, waiting for his trial and execution with that tired defeated look in his eyes.

Ken's gaze shifted downriver toward the image of one of the city's crowning glories. London Bridge stood proudly spanning the river Thames, its twenty arches supporting a narrow, covered way that ran its entire length. From what he had been told, underneath that was a line of neatly built timber houses belonging to the slow growing group of wealthy merchants and tradesmen. But that wasn't what had piqued his attention. No, it was the poles over the gatehouse tower that drew his eyes, poles that were adorned with the heads of executed traitors, rotting in the damp, English air as scavengers picked greedily at the decaying flesh - a warning to all those who dared plot treason against the English crown.

"They say that pirates sometimes get put up there, too."

Ken jumped at the voice that had interrupted his private musings and turned to the approaching figure of Kit.

"It's sick," Ken spat as the first mate joined him to appraise their new destination.

"Yes, but the public always loves an execution and what better way to appease the crowd than to place the head of the criminal up there where everyone can see it."

The brunette didn't respond, knowing all too well the morbid pleasures the darker side of human nature liked to take. Instead, he allowed a moment of comfortable silence to descend between the two of them, giving him some time to reflect on the situation at hand.

"Do you think he's wondering where we are, Kit? Or how we're doing?"

Kit looked over at the pensive brown eyes of the former slave, the younger man's gaze still directed at the pikes over London Bridge. The kid had proven to be a remarkable sailor these past few weeks, but even more surprising were his skills as a commander. As the days had worn on, Ken had slowly broken out of his slavery-induced submissiveness and had managed to run the ship almost as efficiently as Ran. The men had instinctively followed him and Kit had been pleasantly shocked to see him take it all in stride, his orders and decisions coming out clear and precise. Yet, throughout these changes, the younger man's actions were still somehow tempered, and it wasn't until Kit found the brunette sitting in Ran's cabin staring off into oblivion that he realized the former slave was excessively worried over Ran's arrest and missing the man himself.

"I don't know, Kid. But we'll get him out, you'll see. He didn't do anything wrong and he is the last person in the world who would commit treason," Kit answered reassuringly.

Ken closed his eyes briefly, and then turned to look at the older man, wishing for once that he possessed that kind of optimism. "But his face, Kit, when I last saw him ... I couldn't get that out of my mind. He looked so ... so defeated and empty. I've never seen him like that before."

The first mate nodded, clearly recalling the look and the hidden pain that belied it.

"Why? Why, Kit, did he give up so easily? He should've fought them. He should've demanded that he be allowed to prove his innocence, but he just ... he just gave in. Why?"

Kit met the brunette's imploring gaze, anger and helpless frustration swimming in their dark depths. "It's not my place to tell, Kid. But suffice to say that Ran has been running from himself for a long time, and I think he's tired of it."

Ken could feel his hands clench, so tightly that his nails bit into his palm. "Then he should turn and fight, goddamnit! Not give in like some coward. And I know he's not that! I may not have known him for very long but I do know he's not a coward ... why ..."

The first mate didn't say anything and wisely let the younger man vent his emotions as needed; it was good for the kid.

After some time, he finally spoke. "We're almost finished docking. We'll be ready to cast anchor soon. Would you like to join me?"

Ken forced himself to relax and leaned against the rail. "Can you handle it without me this once?" he asked quietly.

"Of course."

With that, Kit was gone and Ken was left once more to revel in his own thoughts. He heard the distant shouts of humanity along the dockside. He smelled the overwhelming stench of civilization, a sharp contrast to the revitalizing ocean air he was used to breathing. And he saw the intricate world he would have to navigate through to gain Ran's freedom, a world of twists and turns, political maneuverings and intrigue. But this was London ... this was England ... a land he had been told about a long time ago when bedtime stories were one of the true highlights of his day.

"I'm here now, Mother, in England," he whispered to the wind. "It's nothing like you said it was but still, I regret you couldn't see your homeland again with me ..."

(***)

"He's here," Schuldich stated plainly as he watched the neat, British-like clipper competently dock itself along the wharf. The captain of the Valiant stood beside him on the London dockside, the man's attention equally diverted by the arriving vessel. They had landed in London over a week ago, and had sat idly by ever since, waiting patiently for their prey to take the bait. Schuldich didn't know exactly what Crawford had planned for the brunette he so wanted to snare, but he could hazard a guess: one did not survive as long as he did without understanding the cunning machinations of a ruthless mind.

"What do you intend to do now?"

Crawford glanced over at the redhead with a look of pure calm and self-assurance. "We wait and watch, Schuldich. The players have all been given their roles, so now we just let it all play out." The younger man saw a flash of gold glint almost imperceptibly in his captain's fingers and realized the man was toying with the ring the redhead had talked off a plundered Spanish captain back in Port Royal.

Pirates, the Spaniard had claimed, pirates of untold ferocity had stolen everything of worth from his ship and left him disgraced in the eyes of his king and country. Schuldich had listened disinterestedly as the olive-skinned man drunkenly blabbered on and on about the horrific travesty that had befallen him. That was, until the ranting captain had produced a gold ring that had been left behind by the leader of those raiding pirates. It was then that Schuldich had managed to glean enough information about the plundering ship to match the one he'd been ordered to observe, and about the infamous captain at her helm. Before long, he'd swiped the ring from the then-drunk Spaniard and reported to Crawford with a little more insight as to where the brunette was staying.

Schuldich knew what the ring his captain fingered looked like intimately for he'd analyzed the thing meticulously before handing it over: a gold, signet ring, engraved with a family crest and overlaid with a cursive 'F' - the symbol of a noble house, much like those of his own country. And yet, he couldn't identify any significance in it other than its tie to the captain of the Redemption. However, Crawford had thought differently and had immediately set sail to play his newly devised game, one that undoubtedly involved that brunette he'd been forced to observe.

"Stay here and watch that ship, Schuldich. Report to me the moment anything happens. I'm heading back to the Valiant."

"Aye, Captain," Schuldich imitated his cruder crewmates with a deceptively submissive answer. Crawford didn't spare him a glance as he walked away, and the redhead wondered why he continued to stay aboard the man's ship. If he wanted, he could leave, take off and see the world as he had originally intended when he'd first stowed away on the Valiant. It wasn't as if he couldn't survive out there on his own. On the contrary, he had mastered the art of cutthroat survival from the moment he first drew breath. Otherwise, he would never have lived as long as he did in the treacherous world of his youth. Then why? Why did he continue to stay aboard the Valiant? Why did he stay with a captain who couldn't have cared less if he remained or left?

'Because he's the first person in your life who hasn't betrayed you,' something within him answered. 'And for that, you owe him everything.'

(***)

"What do you mean I can't leave the ship?" Ken yelled at the man sitting behind the desk - Ran's desk - as he angrily slammed his fists on the wooden surface.

Admiral Richard Whyte stared unwaveringly back, his clear blue eyes serious and his expression unflappable. This man, the one that Ken had first presumed to be the British captain who had arrested Ran, had sauntered aboard the Redemption without a by-your-leave, and had placed the whole crew under arrest, much to the former slave's consternation. It took every ounce of his self-control not to reach across the desk, pull the man out of Ran's chair, and throttle him.

"It's like I said: this crew is under arrest on suspicion of treason, and until such time as it is proven otherwise, this ship is under my jurisdiction. This means that no crewmember shall leave the ship without my expressed permission."

Ken glared at the middle-aged man, wondering how he could spew such words so calmly. "Then what of our captain? Why is he not here with us?"

He wanted to see Ran; he needed to see if the redhead was all right, and to remind himself why he was doing this. Night after night for the past several weeks, he had questioned his motives as to why he continued to do what he did, why he was hell-bent on saving a man who meant nothing more to him than one more master in a long line of people who tried to manipulate him. After all, those words from that drunken night in Port Royal still rang clear in his head, inexplicably causing him more pain than he cared to admit. And yet, time after time, he couldn't come up with a definite answer, save for the fact that he had to. He had to save Ran because to not save him would be unthinkable. 

"Your captain has been tried for treason two days ago and was found guilty."

The admiral's words caused a lump to form inside Ken's throat. He had a good idea what was going to be said next.

"He's slated for execution in five days. The only thing left to decide is whether his crew follows him to the gallows or not."

Fury blinded Ken then. "How? How can he be guilty of treason when the whole crew doesn't ever remember him acting against the British crown? Ask the first mate, ask me, ask any damn sailor on this ship and see if Ran has ever done anything seditious!" He was leaning over the desk now, anger fueling his barely containable rage as Admiral Whyte sat calmly in his seat.

"Captain Randall Fielding was seen raiding one of Her Majesty's ships and making off with the treasures. After that, he had the gall to sink the ship as well."

"There's ... no ... possible ... way ... " Ken ground out through clenched teeth. "They have no evidence."

"They have first hand eyewitness accounts, as well as some hard evidence, boy."

"What evidence?" Ken quipped.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

He wanted to hit the man for being so deliberately elusive, but had to refrain for fear of making the situation worse. He needed to calm down, think rationally, because going on a rampage wasn't going to do Ran any good.

"Then let me speak to the Queen. Let me find a way to prove his innocence."

For the very first time, the older man's stony façade threatened to break, incredulous laughter hovering in his eyes, but one look at Ken's determined and unsmiling face quelled any urge he might have had.

"You're serious?"

Ken nodded solemnly.

Admiral Whyte shook his head. He had seen many things during his tenure as an officer in Her Majesty's Royal Navy, but this ... this was definitely the first time he'd encountered such a man. "My boy, not just anyone can see the Queen. What are you planning to do? Walk up to Her Royal Majesty casually as you please, and ask her to release your captain?"

"If I have to, yes," came Ken's response without any hesitation.

The Englishman just stared at the young man before him, the brunette's unerring loyalty and determination either a product of sheer stupidity or blind devotion. Either way, he felt the stirrings of admiration begin to form somewhere inside him for the boy.

"Please, Admiral. My captain allowed you to arrest him without a fight. He went willingly and freely with you, so in deference to that, I ask for your consideration of my request. Let me leave this ship. Give me four days to discover why he has been wrongfully accused. If I can't do it by then, I will return to this ship, and you may do as you like then. I give you my word on that."

Sheer stupidity, definitely.

But the boy would go far with that attitude, the admiral knew.

"Very well then. Four days. From what Lieutenant Smythe has told me, you could have easily sailed this ship anywhere in the world and escaped, and yet, you chose to follow your captain here where your fate could easily be death. It is because of this that I will trust you, boy. Four days and no more. Don't make me regret it."

Ken felt a slight easing in the tension that had gripped his body earlier. "Thank you, Admiral," he said as he turned to go.

"Wait, boy." The Englishman watched the brunette pause, his shoulders straightening as if he was expecting the permission to be retracted and was readying himself to argue once more. The admiral felt a small smile tug at his usually bland expression. "Her Majesty is residing at Greenwich Palace this time of year, so I suggest you start there."

The boy relaxed and nodded his head in acknowledgement. That done, he left the room with swift, sure strides.

Admiral Whyte watched unmoving as the door closed with a final click. Shaking his head at the foolhardiness of youth, he let the small smile he'd been fighting break through.

"And good luck, boy," he whispered. "Good luck."

(***)

_Greenwich, England_

Greenwich Palace was a sprawling building that was situated close to the riverbank, its long, irregular shape crowned with battlements and jeweled with north-facing transomed windows. There was no symmetry to the thing, which gave it a very 'English' look far removed from the new trends that were arising in Italy, Ken thought as he scrutinized the edifice before him.

It had taken him less than half a day to travel here, a time that could have been greatly improved upon had he access to the Redemption's resources, but he knew he had already taxed Admiral Whyte's generosity in seeking temporary passage off the ship. Lying just south of London along the river Thames, Greenwich was easily accessible by boat, which explained how the Queen managed to transport her whole entourage here during the summer months year after year to visit her favourite residence.

Ken knew he stood out the moment he arrived: he lacked the fancy doublets and velvet jackets with inane brass buttons that were a prerequisite for court gentlemen seeking admittance into the Queen's domain. Never had the fact become clearer than when he had been refused entrance into the palace just moments ago. He understood as he idled helplessly before the palace that what he had to do was near impossible, but he couldn't think of any other way. If he didn't start with the Queen, he didn't know where else to start. Time was running out, for him, for the crew of the Redemption, ... and for Ran.

"Sir, I couldn't help but notice your predicament ... " The accented voice cut through Ken's frustration, causing the brunette to whip around toward the new arrival. There had be a steady stream of traffic in and out of the palace since he'd attempted access, but the fact that this expensively attired man had approached him while others had dismissively passed him by made the former slave instantly suspicious.

Dark, that was his first impression of the man. From the top of the unruly crop of black hair, to the inky immaculateness of the pointed beard, to the finely woven material of the obsidian hose, the man exuded an inexplicable darkness that was barely concealed by the complimenting nature of his physical appearance. By the liberal sprinkling of grey in his hair, and the few lines marring his face, Ken put the newcomer's age at no more than forty years.

"Who are you?" Ken asked, eyes narrowed.

His deep, brown gaze - almost black - glittered as the man's face broke into a friendly, smile. "My apologies. Allow me to introduce myself," the stranger said as he bowed, making an elegant leg that couldn't be faulted. "My name in Nikolai Markhonen, a ...businessman, if you will, from the Continent."

"And ..." Ken prompted, suddenly uneasy at the politeness that was being directed his way.

"I see that you have been trying to enter and have met with unsatisfactory results, no?"

The brunette nodded slowly.

"Well, my dear boy, I merely wish to assist you. You see, it is in my power to help you inside since I have business with a few of these English nobles."

"I need to see the Queen," Ken stated rudely, eager to know exactly what this man wanted. In his experience, no one ever offered anything without expecting something in return.

Nikolai smiled indulgently. "The Queen, if I recall, has an appointment with the Archbishop of Canterbury on the morrow. You can easily intercept her once she is finished with him, can you not?"

Ken continued to assess the man, subtly trying to determine the motives behind such a generous offer. "And in return, what must I do for you?"

The man actually had the gall to chuckle. He reached out and patted the brunette's shoulder in a gesture of good humour. The contact almost caused Ken to jump back, the learned instinct of avoiding such invasions of personal space coming to the fore.

"Nothing, my boy, nothing," the dark-haired man replied innocently. "This is my first time visiting this country and I merely wish to make a good impression. All I ask is that you visit my country one day."

Ken felt his distrust growing toward the man, in spite of the generous offer placed before him. No one had ever willingly done anything for him without exacting a price, and he had a difficult time believing that this man, this stranger, didn't follow that rule. Nevertheless, the offer gave him a chance to save Ran's life, and he couldn't just discard it. If he had to pay the price later, whatever it was, then so be it.

"Very well then. I am indebted to you."

Nikolai nodded happily, a satisfied gleam making its way into his eyes. "Good, good."

(***)

Ken heard them before he saw them, the footsteps sounding more like the marching of an army than the arrival of a royal procession. He had waited patiently in the corridor since Nikolai had snuck him in for his chance to present his case to the Queen. He gave no thought to what he was doing; he didn't question how he had gotten to this point. All he knew was that he was the only hope Ran had of being set free and thus, the moment the entourage came into view, he moved without any second thoughts.

"Your Majesty, a moment of your time," Ken blurted out as he sank to one knee in the path of the monarch. Almost instantly, he heard the hiss of swords being unsheathed and the rapid rhythm of footsteps surrounding him. Ignoring the guards who had leveled their weapons at him, Ken raised his eyes to search for the person he had striven so hard to find.

He identified her immediately amidst the throng of her elaborate royal party. From the tales he had been told, Queen Elizabeth had been a lovely woman in her earlier years, not beautiful but lovely in the mysterious way that only youth could bring. Now, in her sixty-third year, that freshness had faded, but the grace and confidence that had made this woman one of the most powerful rulers in Europe, if not the world, still shone brightly in those dark eyes and the long, oval face, attributes that were said to have been inherited from her mother, Anne Boleyn.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her clear, clipped words ignited a spark of hope within Ken. Although the austerity in her expression should have deterred him, he was fuelled by the driving need to make his plan succeed.

"Your Majesty, I come before you to humbly beg for the life of a condemned man. His name is Randall Fielding, and he is my captain."

Ken watched the shrewd eyes of the monarch as she took in his plea and carefully assessed the kneeling man before her.

"You are one of his crew?"

"Yes, your Majesty," he replied unwaveringly as he maintained his gaze with the Queen. No matter how hard he tried, he could not read her, neither her thoughts nor her emotions, as her face remained a perfect blank, a skill that undoubtedly served her in good stead as a ruler. Ken found this somewhat unsettling.

"And you have traveled all this way to beg for his life?"

"Yes."

Her expression betrayed nothing of her next words. "We regret, young man, that We can not release your captain. He has been tried and found guilty of treason against Our most noble state, a charge even We can not revoke. His execution will stand."

And with that, she signaled the rest of her procession to continue.

'No,' Ken silently screamed. 'This can't be. I can't let this happen!'

"Your Majesty! Please ... " The moment he rose and tried to approach the exalted monarch, he felt the cold, metal kiss of five, sharp swords glide along his neck. Uncaring of his predicament, he sought and held the gaze of the Queen with determined, brown eyes, stopping her departure with his uncharacteristic audacity.

"My mother used to tell me stories of you," he said in a calm, level voice. "The invincible _Regina Gloriana_, the queen who married her country and brought it into the sun. I've heard of your graciousness, your cunning, and even your ruthlessness. But of all that I have been told, the most admirable was your Majesty's mercy. Mercy, my mother spoke of ... the epitome of mercy, she called your Majesty, the mark of the most civilized rulers in history. And so I entreat you and ask that this mercy be bestowed upon a man who faces death not four days hence."

The queen remained unmoving, apparently weighing the words that had just been directed at her. Ken could hear the rapid beat of his heart pound mercilessly in his ears during the ensuing silence, his breath held in anticipation at the upcoming seconds that would decide his fate ... and that of Ran's.

After a brief, and yet too long, moment of agonized waiting, she finally spoke. "Young man, you do know how to turn a phrase and flatter a woman. Therefore, We shall provide you with a condition. If you can prove to Us and the court that your captain is innocent of any wrongdoing, We will release him."

"But your Majesty ... " Once of the men in her entourage, a young, handsome gentleman, objected. "That man is a confirmed traitor! I do not think it wise to ... "

"Enough, Essex! When We wish for your opinion, We shall ask for it." The Queen cut off his outcry with a warning hand and continued to stare at Ken. "Your captain will be moved to the Tower of London today, and will remain there until his execution. We will grant you three days, young man. Should you prove his innocence by then, We will set him free."

Ken did not know what to say, and yet, he knew he could not refuse, not when the Queen was making the offer. "Thank you, your Majesty," he replied quietly as he bowed to acknowledge her generosity. He realized then that he would not be able to ask for more and thus, humbly took his leave.

Queen Elizabeth watched the young man walk away, his movements quick but purposeful.

"Essex," she called, her eyes still not leaving the back of the brunette.

"Your Majesty."

"The captain is still here, is he not?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Then bring him to Our private chambers." Her tone held no room for argument, and Essex was forced to swallow any complaints he may have had as he moved to carry out her orders. The monarch smiled knowingly, her courtiers treated to a rare display of emotion. "We wish to speak with the man ... alone."

(***)

Ken's mind was racing the moment he exited the palace, mentally creating a list of what he needed to do within the next three days. Rapid steps pounding furiously on gravel, he made his way toward the riverbank in hopes of hiring a boat back to London. His task was clear to him now, and although the path itself was still obscured, he must forge ahead, heedless of the dead ends he would undoubtedly encounter.

"My, my, you sure seem to be in a hurry."

Ken stopped, knowing all too well the voice he had just heard did not bode well. Turning, he saw Crawford leaning casually against a tree, sunlight innocently glinting off his dark hair and immaculate clothes, and painting an idyllic portrait of Lucifer basking seductively in the Garden of Eden.

"Crawford. What are you doing here?" the brunette hissed.

"Guess." The man smiled, and raised an eyebrow at his former slave's anxious state. "In a little trouble, are we?"

Ken didn't have time for this. "It's none of your concern." Forcing himself to move before he was caught again in the older man's hypnotic presence, he turned and made to leave.

"This wouldn't happen to do with a certain redheaded captain, would it?"

The brunette froze, not liking the feeling of trepidation that was slowly winding its way through his body. "What do you know about it?"

Crawford continued to smile, but the look held neither warmth nor good intentions in its depths. He slowly straightened and walked casually toward the younger man, eyes focused solely on his obsession. "Let me tell you a story, Ken love," he drawled softly as he began to circle the former slave. "There was once a man who owned a treasure so precious to him that he would not have parted with it for the world. Only, one day, that treasure was stolen from him, taken away before he even had a chance to blink. And so, he vowed that no matter what the cost, he would get his treasure back."

Ken watched the man for a moment with guarded eyes before the spoken words finally registered. Realization dawned. "You did this." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact, deduced from dark experiences of a past that Ken would've done anything to forget.

"Did what?" the older man asked innocently.

The brunette felt a surge of helpless fury seize his mind, and yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself attack the man. He had futilely done so numerous times before, and each time, he had paid for it with a little bit more of his soul.

"You framed him. You framed Ran."

A chuckle, amused and yet, mirthless. "And what if I did?"

Ken was too stunned to respond, his thoughts suddenly thrown into chaos. "He's chained up because of me. He's going to die because of me ..." he stated weakly.

"Like I said, love, no matter what the cost." Crawford stopped moving and gave the brunette a sidelong glance. "Besides, it wasn't too difficult to raid that British ship and convince the survivors I spared to bear false witness. I just forced them to admit that they were being attacked by your ship ... what was her name ... the Redemption?" When Ken failed to respond and stared only sightlessly at him, Crawford took out the ring he had been carrying for the past six weeks. "And how convenient that your captain should leave this behind ..."

The shining metal caught Ken's eye as the sun danced playfully off the reflective gold. Ran's ring ... when had he ... the Spanish raid! He recalled the redheaded captain's injury that day, a neck injury that he had volunteered to treat before he'd been callously pushed away.

Eyes narrowing, Ken watched Crawford toy with the gold. "What do you want, Crawford?" he asked, voice now devoid of all emotion.

The dark haired captain let the ring roll into his palm and closed his fingers over it. Eyes fixated on Ken, he said, "I could save him, you know."

"What do you want, Crawford?"

The older man smiled at the former slave's trademark stubbornness. "What would you do to save him? How much does he mean to you?"

"What do you want?" Ken repeated, undeterred.

In one fluid motion, Crawford brought his hand to the younger man's chin and tilted his head up. Steely gaze locked with steely gaze as a brief moment of pregnant silence surrounded the two men. "You know what I want, Ken love," Crawford said silkily. "But the question is, is he worth the price I'm asking of you?"

  
End Chapter 5  



	6. Sacrifices

_Historical Notes:   
(Warning: Contains small spoiler for this chapter)_

_William the Conqueror:_ Crowned William I, he started the Plantagenet line after winning the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

_The Mary Rose_: The _Mary Rose_ was Henry VIII's flagship during the latter part of his reign. Her captain, Sir Roger Grenville, drowned at sea when the Mary Rose floundered in the Solent off Portsmouth right before the horrified sovereign's eyes in 1545. Almost all hands were lost. I've taken a bit of license, altered this event to suit Ran's history, and changed this ship's story into occurring during Elizabeth's reign instead.

(***)  
  
_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 6: Sacrifices_

A stifling heat twined its way over Ken's skin, halting rational thought and immobilizing him in place. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't breath ... all because that small, yet condemning, touch of Crawford's under his chin had ensnared him.

'Look away,' he reminded himself. 'Look away ...' Deep down, he knew that if he continued to silently battle like this, he'd be lost, hypnotized and chained to the will of the older man.

"Well, Ken love, what will it be?" Hazel eyes twinkled in tempered anticipation as the words escaped seductively from Crawford's lips.

The biting venom of refusal was unmistakable on Ken's face as, by sheer force of will, he dredged up enough strength to shake off the older man's contact. Taking several steps back, the former slave stared at the dark-haired captain with an expression of pure hatred. For the first time in years, he had begun to reclaim who he truly was, had finally tasted the much deprived elixir of freedom, and now, everything he had accomplished was being threatened by the very person who had taken it all from him in the first place. Fate, it seemed, had an odd sense of humour.

"No," Ken growled dangerously, eyes focused intently on his enemy. "Not this time, Crawford. Not like before."

The other man raised a curious eyebrow at the younger brunette's show of defiance. "Are you certain of that? Need I remind you that your captain has but four days to live?"

Ken knew he should just walk away right then and leave his tormentor to revel in his own manipulations, but he couldn't ... not when that look of superiority graced the older man's face. 

His pride, one day, would be his own downfall, Ken thought distractedly. 

"Apparently, your captain has quite a history," Crawford went on when the younger man failed to reply, and brought Ran's ring back into Ken's line of vision. The shiny gold glinted mockingly at the brunette, preening in it subtle beauty as the midday sun highlighted its untarnished luster. "When I went to a goldsmith to have this duplicated, the old man recognized this crest almost immediately. Did you know your captain belongs to a noble family whose lineage dates back to William the Conqueror?" The corner of Crawford's mouth quirked up amusedly. "Quite a mystery really: why would the son of one of the most respected families in England choose to lead a life of a common pirate over one of wealth and privilege?"

"Give it back, Crawford," Ken demanded stonily as his gaze remained fixed on the ring - Ran's ring. The bastard had no right handling it so casually. It belonged with Ran ... it belonged around his captain's neck, safely tucked against his skin and away from prying eyes.

The captain of the Valiant continued to smile enigmatically at him as he held the gold band between his forefinger and thumb. "You want it back, Ken love? Are you willing to pay the price?"

The brunette's eyes narrowed in contempt as he fought the overwhelming urge to lunge at the man. He refused to beg; he had worked too hard and come too far now to go back to what he had once been.

"Go to hell, Crawford," the younger man spat as he turned around and began to walk away. He didn't care if he had to scour every single inch of London in the next three days, he would find some way to prove Ran's innocence. But it would not be like this ... never like this.

"Ken." 

The shout stopped him for a moment and, in a gesture born of old, hard-learned instinct, he glanced briefly back at the older man. A flash of gold winked against the blue sky and he move quickly to catch the thrown ring easily in his hands.

"A gift, Ken love," Crawford said as he watched his former slave close his fingers around the gold band. "To remember your captain by once he's gone. It's the duplicate. The original is safely hidden as it was needed to implicate the man."

The brunette loosened his grip on the piece of gold and stared at the precious metal. He would save him ... he had to, Ken reminded himself.

"But the offer remains open. Remember that, Ken. When you realize how powerless you truly are, I will be waiting."

Ken closed his hand around the ring once more and turned away from his tormentor, refusing to let his former master get the better of him. "Like I said before, Crawford. Go to hell." And with that, he walked away, blindly but determinedly toward the unconquerable quest before him.

(***)

Ran leaned back on the velvet-cushioned chair and stretched out his legs as he watched the doorway with heavy-lidded eyes. Never mind the gold gilded opulence and sweet smelling rushes that surrounded him, what was of import to him right now was approaching the door. He could hear the massive shuffling that was happening beyond this royal suite, even through the heavy oak that separated it from the rest of the world. He shifted slightly against the luxurious material to achieve the physical comfort he hadn't been able to find in the weeks he'd been locked away in his cell, causing the metal chains around his wrists to rattle in a constant reminder of his fate. Apparently, the guards who had roughly dragged him here didn't hold him in high regard, seeing how they had handled him so callously and had insulted his ancestors at least five generations back before dumping him unceremoniously in the Queen's chamber. Puzzled as they were at him having gained a private audience with the monarch, they had left him here, still shackled and helpless.

He didn't mind though: he knew his journey was coming to an end, which was as it should be. He had been running and evading for so long that he was tired, and resignation seemed to be the perfect solution.

It wasn't long before the door opened, and then closed, leaving a new occupant in the chamber who instantly commanded attention and subservience. Intense, dark eyes peered and analyzed his relaxed figure from head to toe through a heavily powdered face, eventually coming to rest on his own violet eyes.

"Well, Lord Fielding, it appears you are quite a popular criminal," the Queen said as she made her way into the room, the loud ruffling of her jewel-encrusted gown the only sound to be heard. "We have actually received a plea for you life."

Moving with a grace that befitted a queen, the monarch sat down elegantly on a chaise off to Ran's left, and carefully arranged the overwhelming fabric of her skirts. That done, she returned her steely gaze to the other redhead in the room.

Ran fought hard to maintain his expressionless mask but as the silence wore on, he couldn't stop the small smile that appeared on his lips. "Please, Bess, no titles between us today," he said with a rare twinkle in his eyes, knowing how the use of the Queen's old name would break any formality that existed between them. "I'm in no mood to listen to the collective 'We' when I'm speaking with just another beautiful woman."

The Queen let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head at the younger man's comment, her posture becoming somewhat less erect as an indulgent grin formed on her normally austere face. "Ran, what am I going to do with you? If I were forty years younger "

"If you were forty years younger, you'd have your eyes set on another, more handsome man in your court," Ran finished for her. "Besides, two stubborn redheads don't exactly make the ideal couple."

Her chuckle was melodic and feminine, echoing through the large chamber with a youthfulness that belied her age. When her laughter abated, she tried to regain some semblance of her usual regal composure, and the thought occurred to Ran of how the woman before him, one lauded as being God's own representative on earth, very rarely had the opportunity to laugh freely and express her emotions as she just did. Living in a world where her every action brought serious repercussions upon a whole nation, she had had to pretend to be something better than and beyond human for over half her life. His esteem for her grew every time he saw her.

"Speaking of handsome young men, one came to beg for your life today. Very handsome, in fact, ... and bold too." At Ran's look of interest, she continued, fondly remembering the sailor she had encountered. "Brown hair, dark eyes ... he even had the audacity to meet my eyes when I had dismissed him."

Ran sat up at the description put forth by the monarch, his mind marveling at the unique turn of events. It couldn't be ... Not Ken ... Not here ... Foolish, stupid Ken! Why had he followed him here? Wasn't it enough that he gave himself up willingly so his crew would at least have a chance of being free? He didn't need the brunette here to complicate matters. A slow bubble of anger began to form somewhere inside him over the impulsive actions of his newest crewman, and he tried to quell it in hopes of hiding it from the Queen.

"He never mentioned his name, but you certainly have earned a great deal of his loyalty."

"I never asked for it," Ran snapped unconsciously, and looked away. His eyes alighted on an intricately woven tapestry hanging on the far wall, the pictures telling a story of personages long ago when heroes and villains were easily defined, and truth and valour reigned supreme. Yet, he couldn't seem to properly admire the beautiful work of art, his mind now preoccupied with so many other things. He realized he had just acted improperly, but still he could not seem to face the woman by him without the confusion he knew lingered on his face. 

Perhaps she perceived his discomfort with the subject matter at hand because he heard a quiet 'tsk' before she changed the topic. 

"Ran, Ran, Ran ... Even I can't save you this time. There were witnesses, and your signet ring was left behind on one of my ships. I never thought you to be so careless."

He reluctantly turned his head back to look at her worried expression. "I'm not."

Until I met him, he added silently. And that was all the more reason for distancing himself from Ken. With the way he lived and the persona he tried to maintain, to form any deep attachments to anyone was dangerous ... and deadly.

"But I never attacked any of your ships, Bess. You know I would never ... not after ... " His voice trailed off as buried memories made its way uninvited into the forefront of his mind.

The Queen's eyes softened, a look of maternal protectiveness flickering briefly over her stern expression, a look she undoubtedly would've displayed more often for the children she never had. "Are you still dwelling over that?" she asked quietly. "It was an accident, Ran. And you were little more than a boy then."

"But I cost you your prized flagship, not to mention the best admiral in your fleet," he rebutted, the anger that had been simmering just below the surface now boiling over, except now, the target of that fury had changed. No longer was he mad at Ken, but himself, the bitter taste of self-hatred now a familiar friend to him after all these years.

"He wasn't just my best admiral, Ran. He was your father and that is what you are still blaming yourself for." Her voice was level and rational, ever the epitome of a ruling monarch. But her eyes ... her eyes held his with such understanding and compassion that he couldn't bear to deny her words outright. Instead, he looked away again, once more taking in the length of the tapestry hanging along the wall.

"Don't tell me you don't remember it," he said in a sad voice. "I close my eyes sometimes and see the _Mary Rose_ sinking. I still freeze up with helplessness just like back then every time that image crosses my mind. You remember, don't you? You were there."

He heard her rise just then, and walk toward him with light, purposeful steps. He stiffened at first when he felt her gently stroke his hair, but then closed his eyes and relaxed into her comforting gesture.

"Ran, there was nothing you could have done. There was nothing even I could have done. What's past is past."

Her voice was soothing, but listening to her words had cause an unfamiliar burning behind his eyes.

What's past is past, she had said. Would that he could believe it when the passing years had taught him otherwise. No matter how far he ran or how hard he tried to forget, the clinging arms of those memories still reached out toward him, pulling him in and embracing him with no intention of letting go.

He opened his eyes then and blinked rapidly to dispel the awkward sensation that had assailed him. When he felt more like his usual self, he turned and looked at the woman standing beside him. History would record her as one of the mightiest monarchs to sit upon the throne of England, a mere female playing in a cutthroat political arena and putting her male counterparts to shame - the invincible Gloriana - but right now, she was his friend, and one of the last few remaining links to what he had once been.

"Grant me one last wish, Bess," he said calmly. "Please don't confiscate the Redemption. My crew is blameless in this and the ship ... that ship means everything to me. I don't want her docked and refitted into some fleet for the rest of her life. The Redemption was meant to be sailed, free to run without any rules. Can you promise me at least that much?"

The standing monarch looked down at him sadly and sighed. "I will try, Ran." She turned from him then and paced the rush-covered floor for a moment before coming to a stop a few steps away. "But you certainly don't make it any easier on me, do you? This loss of spirit isn't like you. Now I have to decide whether to give you a nobleman's death by cutting off your head or hang you like a common pirate."

"Privateer," Ran corrected automatically. Then he added amusedly, "Calling me a pirate is like ... is like calling an assassin a common killer. There is a fine distinction."

The Queen shook her head at his show of brevity during a crisis like this. "Still, you were seen attacking one of _my_ ships, and the people want to see justice."

"Then by all means, let us give it to them." He met her gaze from his position on the chair, the seriousness of his tone easily communicating the finality of his decision. "If they want my head, then so be it."

(***)

_London  
Three days later..._

"Crawford, may I ask you something?" Schuldich looked at the departing captain who had been making his way toward the gangplank, undoubtedly heading off to further his latest scheme. "Why are you doing this?"

The other man paused and turned to look at the redhead leaning lazily on the aft rail of the Valiant, the late day sun playing innocently off his fine features and highlighting select strands of gold in his hair. "Do I need a reason?" he answered back, eyes wary but calculating in their assessment of his crewman's question.

Schuldich smiled coldly at the older man's response, and stored the evasive remark away for future use. "No, not at all."

Seeing that he'd satisfied the redhead's uncharacteristic show of curiosity, Crawford turned around and proceeded to make his way onto the London docks, question and questioner forgotten.

The reposing redhead watched the captain leave, his mind mulling over the schemes that Crawford had played with since he'd come aboard the Valiant. The man was ruthless, and cunning, he knew, but now, he was tempted to put obsessive onto that list. During the past two years, he'd witnessed the dark-haired captain lie, cheat, and kill in cold blood, all done with such a show of detachment and grace that any well-bred gentleman would have looked on in envy. Furthermore, to be honest, that was what had drawn Schuldich to him in the beginning. Crawford reminded him of his youth, of the people he had grown up with, of the beautiful glittering facades that had hidden the deadliest of minds. The man, in short, was something familiar in an unfamiliar world.

But now ... now this new player had diverted his captain's attention, drawing out a side of Crawford he'd never seen before. The older man seemed rather distracted, the energy he had put into ensnaring his new target bordering on what Schuldich could only call obsessive.

And that could be dangerous ... because obsession could easily become a weakness, and weakness ... well, exploitation of weaknesses was a rare art he had mastered from the cradle.

(***)

The Tower of London loomed threateningly before Ken as he made his way toward it, the shadow of the edifice enough to deter any sane man from voluntarily entering into its confines. He remembered hearing tales of this place, stories of young princes, banished royalty, and wronged nobility whose spirits still lingered within its wall. Objectively, it was a remarkable structure, sturdy stone walls and proud standing towers weathering the elements of time, but the purpose of its existence cast an ominous pallor over the whole area, its secured chambers and dark halls the last thing many unfortunate condemned saw before meeting their end.

But Ran was in there, Ken thought as he fingered the gold coins he'd borrowed from Kit to bribe the guards. If there was one thing he'd learned through the years, it was the value of gold and the insatiable lust that men had for it. He could only hope he had enough to pay his way in to see his captain.

Deep down, he was nervous: they hadn't parted on the best of terms, and even after all this time, he was still apprehensive of how he'd be treated. What would he say to the man? What could he say? That he had tried his best, but regardless, the execution would stand? That he had enjoyed his time on the Redemption and it had been an honour to serve under such a wonderful captain? Ken felt his muscles stiffen even further as a result of the utter frustration he had experienced over the past three days, a time during which he'd tried to hunt down these so-called witnesses Crawford had spoken of and even that goldsmith the man had mentioned in passing. But searching for those select few in the growing populace that was London was a task akin to impossible and never had he felt such despondency as when he had come away from three endless days of looking completely empty-handed. He had wheedled his way through the avaricious hands of the middle class merchants down to the contemptible, seedy establishments of the London underworld, and had walked out with absolutely nothing.

Nothing but a growing desperation and a dying hope.

The twisting knot inside his stomach tightened as he approached one of the entrances of the renowned prison. He saw the two burly guards standing on duty as he moved closer, the men looking like they belonged more in the gaming hells he'd visited yesterday than in the service of the Queen. Taking out the concealed pouch of gold, he prepared himself for a lengthy bout of bargaining.

One step at a time, he told himself. Once he got in, he'll worry about getting Ran out. There _had_ to be some way to prove his innocence ... other than the alternative he refused to take.

(***)

Ran felt his whole body tense when the door opened and the young man entered. The grey stone walls of his moderately furnished cell seemed to provide a drastic contrast to the life that surrounded the new arrival. He watched, frozen by some invisible hand as the brunette walked slowly to the unoccupied chair across the table from him. The errant locks of rich, brown hair, the glittering gems of deep, dark eyes, the proud angle of strong, determined features ... Ken.

He had never thought he'd see him again, and now that the brunette was here, he wasn't sure he wanted to see him. There was too much he had done, too much he had said that was unforgivable and yet, now, seemed so trivial.

Ken sat down, and glanced around at his surroundings, eyes undoubtedly taking in every amenity and lack thereof in order to avoid his gaze. Ran knew exactly what the other man would see: unforgiving walls enclosed a small, livable space, and although the lumpy mattress, the table, and the two chairs were luxuries afforded to him on the merit of his rank, the locked door reminded its occupants of what this place truly was - a prison cell disguised as a simple room.

Finally, Ken finished his assessment of the chamber and met his eyes, a sudden spark of warmth igniting in his chest at that look. They said nothing for a while, but just sat and stared, subtly drinking in the sight of each other and enjoying the other's presence after such a long time apart.

It was odd, Ran thought, that with all that time on the Redemption when they were together and suffered the strained silence, they would find a certain comfort in the other's presence now. But he didn't question it; he didn't want to ruin this temporary peace that had settled between the two of them.

An eternity could have passed and Ran would've been none the wiser, but inevitably, it had to end.

"You've lost weight," Ken said casually as if commenting on the weather. "They haven't been feeding you well?"

Ran leaned back in his chair and donned the mantle of the removed captain almost instinctively. "Dead men don't need to eat."

It was a rare treat for him when he saw red-hot anger flash through Ken's eyes. The brunette shifted his body forward, and banged a fist on the table between them. "Why?" he demanded hotly. "Why did you give up so easily? Why did you let yourself be locked up like this without a fight? You're not like that! You're not a coward!" His voice got louder with every word, until he noticed the amused look on the redhead's face.

"What?"

Ran looked on with heavy-lidded eyes and an enigmatic smile. "You," he answered. "You've changed so much, Ken. Two months ago, you couldn't even look me in the eyes, and now ... Now, I hear you're challenging queens." Ran looked the younger man up and down, admiring the quiet confidence the brunette was now exuding. "It's amazing how far you've come. And yet, I can't say that I'm surprised. I knew this fire was buried somewhere in you that day I first saw you on the block in Santa Domingo."

Ken straightened slightly at Ran's observation, and looked away for a moment. Had the lighting been better, the young captain might have been able to discern a slight blush that crept onto the brunette's cheeks. After a brief pause, he turned back to the other man, his voice now calmer.

"Kit said you were running from something. Is that why you're here? Is that why you gave up?"

"No," the redhead answered seriously. "No, Ken, I didn't give up. This was something that should've happened long ago. This is right."

"Right?"

Ran could see the younger man's emotions begin to flare again.

"Right? Don't talk about right, Captain! You're a pirate for Christ's sake! For you, there is no right or wrong! You plunder ships, you command riff-raff and you're supposed to acted damned arrogant!" Ken stopped to take a breath, although his heated gaze never left Ran. "You were meant to be free. Not locked up in here like some animal, waiting for your own execution."

Ran couldn't find the words to respond to that. He didn't know what to say.

"What's so important, Captain, that you have to throw your life away? What's so bloody damning that you're making this sacrifice?" Ken continued, his voice taking on more of an accusatory tone. "Because let me tell you something, Captain: you had the whole world at your feet. You could sail off into the horizon and explore the endless oceans to your heart's content. You were free, free to do anything you wished. And I, for one, don't understand how you could just throw it all away. Isn't that in itself something worth fighting for?"

Ran swallowed, the other man's words piercing deep into his flesh and yet, he couldn't - no, he wouldn't - let if affect him.

Ken watched in frustration at the redhead's lack of response. "Coward," he muttered.

The moment the word left his lips, Ran lunged across the table and grabbed Ken by the collar, causing his chair to fall over with a resounding bang. He dragged the brunette to his feet and stopped when he was sure the younger man could feel his breath glide along his face.

"You want to know?" Ran growled through clenched teeth. "You want to know, Ken, about the demons I've faced every single day of my life for the past ten years? Well, before I tell you, let me ask you this: what gives you the right to dig into my problems? What give you, a slave, my very own property that I paid for with my hard-earned gold, the right to question what I do with my life?"

It was a reflex born of habit and emotional self-preservation that had caused him to say those words, and Ran knew it the moment he saw the rapidly hidden flash of hurt in Ken's eyes. Letting go of his hold on the brunette, he turned around and righted his chair, his voice still vibrating in the ensuing silence. When he sat down again, and looked over at Ken, he noticed the younger man slouch slightly lower in his seat, eyes now averted and downcast.

Suddenly, Ran wanted to take everything he had said back, to erase everything he had verbally thrown at Ken and see that passionate sparkle in the former slave's eyes again. But unfortunately, he couldn't, so he did the next best thing. 

Taking a deep breath first, Ran's eyes remained unwaveringly on Ken's defeated posture as he began his story.

"My father was an admiral in the Royal Navy, one of the Queen's best, in fact," Ran started, tone calm and even as he recounted a story he had never told anyone. "I was fourteen when I convinced my sister to stow away with me on one of my father's ships. I had such dreams of grand adventure back then, and like any adoring sibling, she readily agreed to hide with me on board the Mary Rose. My father had set sail with a royal send-off from the Queen herself before he discovered us. Immediately, he changed course to take us back. When we were close enough to shore, he dispatched us in one of his rowboats with Kit to see us safely to land," Ran paused then, feeling a lump form in his throat at the words he was trying to form. But Ken looked on encouragingly, and it was enough to motivate him into continuing.

"I don't know what happened then, but when we were halfway to shore, the Mary Rose floundered - something to do with the tide at that time of day and being so close to shore, I was told - and she sank right before our eyes, all hands lost. My sister jumped into the water before Kit or I could stop her, and tried to swim back to save Father, but she was never a strong swimmer, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't reach her. She drowned right before my eyes ... " He stopped, his voice strangely cracking as he finished, but after a moment of comfortable silence, he went on, eyes and tone once again steady.

"She would never have been there were it not for me, and my father ... if I hadn't stowed away on his ship, he would never have had to turn back, and the Mary Rose would've sailed off safely. In that one day, I had lost both my father and sister. My mother died two weeks later, which I sometimes count as a blessing since I don't think I could've lived with the accusations she would've eventually thrown my way. They said she had died of a weak heart, but I saw it for what it really was - grief."

Compassion flooded Ken's warm, brown eyes as Ran spoke, and all of a sudden, he felt slightly uncomfortable with the emotion from the other man. The young captain looked down at the scarred surface of the wooden table before resuming his story. "After that, I locked myself up in Fielding Manor for two years ... two years of self-imposed exile, to wallow in guilt and remorse. Then one day, I woke up and decided to leave ... to leave this place and never come back. I sold off everything that wasn't entailed and bought the Redemption. And with her, I ran ... I ran as far away and as fast as I could from everything that I was and everything I had done ... "

Ran looked up then and met Ken's gaze once more, the haunted fire in the former's violet eyes enough to cause the former slave to gasp. "But I'm tired, Ken, tired of running from all the mistakes I made so long ago. I should've been the one to d - "

"No!" The shout escaped from Ken's mouth before Ran could finish. "Don't you ever say that! You made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Not me!" Ran retorted.

Ken's eyes narrowed slightly at his captain's response. Standing up, he placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, a combination of frustration and anger evident in his expression. "You arrogant, selfish bastard," he said is a low tone. "You think this is the only way to atone for what you've done? By giving up your life?" When Ran didn't respond, the brunette's face softened, as did his voice. "Look, I understand how you feel but it's no reason to - "

"Do you?" The redheaded captain interrupted loudly, standing up as well and leaning forward to meet the brunette face to face. He didn't like that look of concern and understanding in the younger man's eyes. He didn't want it ... didn't need it ... "Do you understand how it feels to lose everything in a blink of an eye, and know you're responsible?"

"Yes!" Anger for anger, and a shout for a shout. "Yes, I do! Don't give me this repentance and self-induced punishment talk, Captain. I stood by as everyone I held close died, and I couldn't do a damned thing about it! Don't lecture me on guilt ..."

Having had enough of this, Ken broke the impromptu staring match, and turned around, making ready to leave. "I watched everyone and everything I loved die, Captain," he said with his back turned. "So I refuse to sit idly by and watch you throw your life away too."

With that, Ken walked toward the door, his posture straight and his expression unseen.

Ran stared helplessly at the retreating back. This was not how he had wanted it to end. This was not how he wanted Ken to remember him after he was gone. He had done and said so many things to the younger man that he had yet to explain and apologize for. And yet, ... and yet, when he opened his mouth to stop the former slave, the wrong words came out. He never said the right words 

"Ken," Ran called as the brunette put his hand on the doorknob. "Promise me something before you leave. Look after the Redemption for me. She's ... she's all I have left."

The younger man paused for a moment, politely considering his captain's request. And then, before stepping out of the chamber, he glanced over his shoulder with a look of sad determination in his gaze. "No, Ran, you still have me."

(***)

He walked, not knowing where he was headed or what he was doing. Hollow steps on cobbled stones, he walked, unsure and unaware of where his life should be going now. Early evening dusk had descended over London Town as the growing void inside his body began to gnaw at him ... and he walked.

Ken wondered if he should be feeling something - anything - right now because he didn't. He was neither happy nor sad, neither hopeful nor hopeless, neither carefree nor worried as he left the Tower. Nothing but hollowness and emptiness.

Then he stopped, the lurking presence in the shadows effectively halting him every time it was nearby. He didn't need to look or speak to know who had been waiting for him. In fact, subconsciously, Ken had wanted him to be here. 

Staring straight ahead, Ken spoke to the man off to the side in a level, sure tone.

"My freedom for his, Crawford."

End Chapter 6


	7. Capture, Recapture

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 7: Capture, Recapture _

The London docks were fast becoming is least favourite place. The stench of unwashed humanity and decaying refuse still lingered in the damp night air, everlasting remnants of the souls who toiled here during the day, its thickness and pervasiveness all conspiring to choke the life right out of him. It was definitely unpleasant, Ken decided as he made his way down the wharf toward the Redemption. And it was probably one of the few things he would be grateful to leave behind when he set sail with Crawford aboard the Valiant come tomorrow.

At the thought of the dark-haired captain, Ken's attention turned to the presence behind him, shadowing him with the focused tenacity an obedient pet would at a master's orders. What had Crawford called him again? Schuldich, or something along those line, Ken recalled. He didn't recognize him, nor did he remember him from his time as a slave on the Valiant so Ken concluded the redhead had probably joined the crew after he had left. Nevertheless, he had to give the long-haired man credit: his own dull steps thumped along the wooden walkway, quietly echoing down the quay and through the darkness, but Schuldich's movements were barely audible. Aside from the slight shuffle he heard if he paused and listened carefully, he would never have known the other man was even there. He wondered how Schuldich managed to remain almost invisible given the open space they were traversing. If he turned around right then, he would've had to search hard to delineate the outline of the Valiant's crewman, the meager sliver of moonlight reflecting off burnished hair and intense eyes the only telltale signs he was even present. But all in all, Ken didn't mind this fact. If he couldn't see or hear the redhead, then he wouldn't be reminded too often of the monumental decision he had made earlier that evening.

"My freedom for his," he had said to Crawford, those condemning words still ringing in his head now. He wondered why he had taken Crawford's offer: surely, he didn't care for the captain so much as to give up his hard-won freedom. Those eyes, haunted and saddened with that tempered violet fire, had affected him definitely, and that resigned voice, defeated and faraway as it relayed the captain's story, had made him sympathize yes, but was that the extent of it? Did he feel something more than deep compassion and a need to soothe all that guilt and fear from Ran's face? But if that wasn't the case, then why had he sacrificed everything he had gained these past two months for the older man's life? And why did he feel as if he had done the right thing?

He remembered Crawford's subtle look of satisfaction at his decision, no triumphant smile or gloating words forthcoming as the brunette had finally submitted to his manipulations. Ken smirked inwardly at the memory: Crawford would never betray the controlled exterior that he had long made his trademark, even if he had just finally regained his most prized possession after such an eventful chase. The dark-haired captain had merely nodded and led him toward the Valiant, face impassive and his authority undeniable as Ken had followed the man out of old habit. It wasn't until he had stood in the looming shadow of his former ship that he regained the presence of mind to object to the pace with which events had progressed.

Stopping before the ship's gangplank, he had stated that there were still a few things left on the Redemption he wanted to retrieve. Crawford had scrutinized him for a moment then, searching for any intention of escape that may have been forming in his former slave's mind before relenting to Ken's wishes and summoning Schuldich to watch over his new acquisition. The older man had then claimed that he would head off immediately to make the arrangements for Ran's release, a declaration that Ken did not question for the sooner the situation was resolved, the better. He had no doubt the Valiant's captain was having a 'civil' conversation with the so-called witnesses at that very moment, and from experience, he knew Crawford's brand of persuasion could be rather swaying. Even if the witnesses decided to tell the truth and accuse the dark-haired man of coercion before the court, Crawford would, in all likelihood, have sailed off without a trace by then. He was that efficient.

The Redemption finally came into view, and Ken felt his heart jump at the sight of the weak moonlight reflecting off her tall rigging and sleek hull. Majestic and proud she stood, anchored and moored but ready to sail out into the vast oceans the instant she was set free - so much like her captain she was, Ken thought sadly. He would miss her ... He would miss everything about her: her uncontainable speed, her refined finesse, her unrivalled grace, her motley crew, and even her peerless captain.

Ken was startled by that last thought, surprised at the attachments he had unknowingly developed during the recent months. How could he? He knew better than to feel too deeply for anything and anyone. But now, ... Tippy, Mr. Mumbles, Kit, ... Ran ... He silently scolded himself for being so blatantly careless. There were rules he had set up for himself years ago, rules he had vowed never to break: be accommodating, be friendly if you have to, but never, never let it be anything more because otherwise, he would hurt deep inside ... like he was hurting now.

Trying to ignore the unwanted sadness that had somehow gripped him, he continued walking forward and slowly made his way onto the ship. The most notable aspect about the deck was the absence of the British soldiers who had swarmed it the day he'd left. It was fairly quiet now, Ken saw, his gaze sweeping around the dimly lit ship. Lanterns, scattered sparsely throughout, supplemented the quarter moon as he tried to identify the few shadows that were still working at various stations on deck before heading down for the night.

"Hey, Boy! You're back!"

Ken turned toward the quarterdeck at the shout to see a bulky figure, followed by an equally large and muscular one, detach themselves from the others.

"Tippy. Mr. Mumbles." Ken greeted as the crewmen lumbered over.

"Any luck with the captain?" Tippy asked, face hopeful as he stopped before the brunette. Mr. Mumbles's expression mirrored that of his shipmate.

Ken smiled encouragingly, and prayed his false cheerfulness would hide the gravity of his own situation. "I have a feeling that everything is going to be fine. I believe the captain should be returning soon."

Tippy broke out into a gleeful shout as he slapped Ken on the shoulder, his bright eyes brimming with joy. "You're serious, right, Boy?"

At Ken's affirmative, the sandy-haired man broke out into another loud shout to inform the other crewmen of the good news. Ken couldn't help but smile even more at the large man's happiness. Even Mr. Mumbles's face had broken into a wide grin, the white ivory of his teeth juxtaposed against the smooth ebony of his skin. But then, the former African slave's gaze fell onto the figure standing behind Ken, and his look turned to one of curiosity and suspicion.

Seeing the direction the man's attention had taken, Ken was quickly reminded of what he had come to do.

"He's a friend, Mr. Mumbles," Ken stated calmly, trying to remain unaffected so as not to reveal the lie. At the dark-skinned man's slight nod, Ken looked at Tippy in an effort to change the subject. "Tippy, is Admiral Whyte still on board?"

The shouting crewman calmed down a little at Ken's question, although his eyes still sparkled from the happy news. "The British bastard left a while ago. Said he had some official business to take care of and left that pampered dandy, Smythe, in charge." Tippy's eyes turned slightly mischievous then, making him look very much like a little boy who had put a frog in some girl's hair. "But I think the crew harassed him enough to have him huddling somewhere in the hold."

A deep-throated chuckle escaped Tippy's throat at his last words as he patted Ken on the shoulder again and glanced conspiringly at Mr. Mumbles, who was obliged to smile good-naturedly back. Ken looked away from the open display of camaraderie. Make the cut clean, he told himself. He was the only one to blame for letting these attachments develop and thus, he had to be the one to severe it.

"I'm going to the captain's cabin, Tippy," Ken said as he moved away from the jovial crewman.

"We'll see you later then, Boy."

Ken glanced at his two shipmates and smiled a small smile. "Yes, later," he whispered and continued toward Ran's room. Without looking, he knew Schuldich followed him, silent and unobtrusive but present nonetheless.

A strange warmth spread through his body the moment he stepped into the empty cabin. It had only been days since he'd left but looking around at the familiar feather mattress and the finely crafted oak desk, Ken felt like he had come home after years of separation. His eyes fell on the lit lamp sitting on the desk, the one that Ran had refused to let him light that drunken night in Port Royal, and he fought against the nostalgia that threatened to consume him at the memory. Regardless of all the things the redhead had said and done, Ran was one of the best captains he had ever served under, and Ken owed him at least a goodbye.

Leaving Schuldich to stand by the door, Ken walked up to the desk and pulled out a sheet of blank parchment. After seeing that the inkwell was still full, he picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink, and started writing. For the next few moments, the only sound to be heard in the room was the quick scratching of quill on parchment as Ken wrote his final farewell to his captain. 

It was fitting, he thought while watching the ink dry, that the site of their first meeting would be the site of their final parting, indirect as it may be. He remembered standing here over two months ago, meeting Ran for the first time and thinking that the man was too young to be who he claimed to be. It hadn't taken long before he was proven wrong, he recalled amusedly.

After blowing gently on the parchment, he sanded it, and placed it carefully in the middle of the desk, clearly visible to anyone who walked by. Satisfied, he looked up at Schuldich and nodded, indicating that his task was now complete. The redhead's eyes narrowed slightly but his expression betrayed nothing as Ken walked back toward the door and exited the cabin. If the trailing man had expected the brunette to collect any personal belongings as he had originally claimed, he didn't show it, and frankly, Ken wouldn't have cared if he did. He had come on board the Redemption with nothing save his convictions and his pride, and thus, he would leave with such.

His fate now once more out of his control and in the hands of others, he was suddenly eager to leave all this behind. The sooner he left this ship, the sooner he could begin to forget about that brief moment in time when he had tasted true freedom. Strides long and quick, Ken almost made it onto the gangplank when he heard a familiar shout stop him.

"Hey, Kid! Tippy said you were back."

Ken swallowed and composed his face into a mask that he prayed the approaching first mate wouldn't see through.

"Kit," Ken greeted as the middle aged man looked happily at him.

"Tippy told me the news about the captain, Kid," Kit remarked in a light tone, and shook his head. "You never seem to amaze me. How did you do it?"

Ken shrugged and looked away from the older man's inquisitive gaze. "I'd prefer to keep that a secret, if you don't mind, Kit." Hopefully, the first mate would see his gesture and words as a show of modesty and not as the lie it truly was.

Kit threw him a quizzical look but then his eyes fell on Schuldich, and his whole body stiffened.

Before the older man could ask, Ken explained the redhead's presence. "He's a friend, Kit. He helped me secure Ran's release so I thought I would thank him by taking him to a local tavern tonight."

The fib rolled glibly off his tongue more smoothly than he had originally anticipated. And Kit appeared to believe it since he nodded his thanks to the silent redhead. Ken watched as Schuldich acknowledged the first mate's action with a slight inclination of his own head, but the steady, piercing green gaze caused an uncomfortable shiver to run down the brunette's spine. To Ken, Crawford's crewman looked as if he was sizing Kit up with some veiled intent, like he was mentally creating a list of strengths and weaknesses that could potentially be used in the future for his own benefit. But he couldn't let the man distract him now. He still had to get off the ship.

"I'll be heading off then, Kit," Ken said as he turned back toward the gangplank.

Kit chuckled quietly. "Have a good time, Kid."

"I will," Ken replied as he made his way onto the docks. He could feel the first mate's gaze on his back as he walked away, but he forced himself to ignore it just like he forced himself to forget everything he was leaving behind.

(***)

'Why did Crawford want him so badly?' Schuldich wondered as he walked behind the brunette, eyes fixed on the other man's ramrod straight back and proudly angled head. Moonlight glinted off Ken's dark locks, providing an unearthly sheen around his hair that for all intents and purposes looked like a halo. His lips quirked up at the poetic analogy.

An angel ... the very thought made Schuldich want to break out in laughter. If there was one thing he had learned in all his years, it was that anything as pure and as good as angels didn't exist, or if they did, they never lasted long in this world. He had watched this Ken walk among his crew and interact with a relaxed friendliness that he knew was an act. He had remained silent, as the brunette had easily lied about his identity and the current predicament. And through it all, he had tried to pinpoint what allure this man held that had captivated Crawford so thoroughly.

But there had been something about him that Schuldich couldn't exactly describe during their brief sojourn aboard the Redemption, something elusive in the way Crawford's former slave spoke, something unidentifiable in the way he moved that intrigued the redhead. It was ... it was almost like an untainted essence that the brunette seemed to exude unknowingly. Innocence, for lack of a better word, Schuldich concluded, although he had a hard time believing that such a concept truly existed.

"Why does Crawford want you so badly?" he asked suddenly, his curiosity now taking the better of him.

Ken didn't answer. He just continued to walk, no break in his steps and no acknowledgement of the question.

"I asked you something," Schuldich stated as he stopped the brunette with a hand on the shoulder. He disliked it when people ignored his questions. "And I expect an answer. Why does he want you so badly?"

He thought the brunette would finally reply since he made no move to walk away but then, he shrugged off Schuldich's hand and continued along the docks as if nothing had interrupted him at all. The redhead felt a spurt of anger shoot through him. Quickly catching up to Crawford's new conquest, he grabbed the man by the arm, turned him around and pulled the brunette toward him by the collar of his vest until their faces were a hairsbreadth apart. 

"Answer me," he demanded quietly. "Why does he want you so badly?"

And still, Ken did not respond. Instead, he looked into Schuldich's hard gaze with his own dark eyes, disheartened sadness dwelling in their unfathomable depths. And it was then that the redhead's mind was assaulted with what this man really was: goodness, purity, ... innocence. He stood frozen for a moment as he watched the brunette's soulful orbs reveal something that conflicted with everything he had grown up to believe. This was all an illusion; it had to be. Innocence ... it didn't exist, it never had. For all its exalted praise, and its wondrous virtue, it was just a weakness ... a weakness to be exploited, a weakness to be condemned, a weakness to be destroyed. 

Schuldich let his lips form a cold, deadly smile as he rationalized what he saw into something he could understand. "You're pathetic, did you know that?" he whispered as he held Ken's gaze. "People like you would've never survived where I grew up."

And with that, he let the brunette go, pushed him away like he was nothing more important than an annoying insect. Unperturbed by the sudden outburst, Ken calmly straightened himself and resumed his journey, leaving Schuldich to follow as he had done all evening.

'Yes, he was weak,' the redheaded decided. But that still didn't explain why Crawford wanted him so badly.

They walked silently then, slowly covering the distance between the Redemption and the Valiant as if nothing had happened, the weak moon showering its white light on the two lone figures trekking their way through the darkness. The docks were deserted, the rhythmic lapping of the river Thames and their muted footsteps on the creaking walkway the only disturbances to disrupt the damp, London air. And Schuldich hated it. This quiet, this blackness it was too unnerving, even in his jaded experience. Body beginning to tense, he continued to tread stealthily and a little more cautiously.

He didn't know how he had anticipated it - perhaps it was the sudden stillness that pervaded his senses, or perhaps it was the almost imperceptible flash of moonlight off gleaming metal - but he saw the attack just in time to duck and avoid decapitation. Reacting instinctively and lashing out a leg in the general direction of the sword wielder, he caught something soft and yielding with the heel of his boot and heard a pained grunt. A heavy thud ahead of him indicated that Ken had encountered a similar assailant and was mirroring his own actions. Eyes narrowing and body lowering into a crouch, Schuldich tried to make out the moving shadows around him that looked more a part of the night than human. His whole being sung from the danger of the situation as his sharply tuned senses discerned three dark figures surrounding him, one of which being the person he'd recently kicked.

A soft swish and Schuldich felt rather than saw one of them lunge at him from his left. Timing it perfectly, he sidestepped to his right and sensed the attacker's blade glide right below his arm as he jerked his elbow up toward his opponent's face. A dull crack and a light splatter of warm fluid on his face caused a stream of satisfaction to spread through his chest, the man's nose in all likelihood broken. He heard shouting coming from Ken's direction but he ignored it, and forced his attention to his remaining attackers.

His breaths were now coming short and fast as a predatory gleam manifested itself somewhere deep in his verdant eyes, and had it been brighter, the newcomers might have very well reconsidered engaging the redhead, but the waning moonlight was barely sufficient to see where a body was standing, let alone a man's face. And so they attacked, arms swinging and swords poised as Schuldich dodged and evaded, his movements swift yet graceful, a macabre dance unto itself. The redhead smiled inwardly at the ineptness of his assailants, and briefly wondered how Crawford's new pet was doing on his own. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a chance to dwell on it.

Deftly leaning away from a sword thrust that barely missed his side, he quickly clamped his hand down on the momentarily stationary wrist and twisted. The offending sword clattered to the boards as a vehement curse escaped the captured man's mouth. Holding tightly to the man's arm, Schuldich abruptly brought his knee up and leveraged the fragile bones of the attacker's wrist between it and his viselike grip until he heard a rewarding snap. The man didn't even have the opportunity to gasp in pain before the redhead let off a right hook that knocked him off his feet.

Now, Schuldich turned to his last opponent, his heated blood and rapid heartbeat echoing a lustful tune in his ears. The shadowed figure stood still, sword in hand but unmoving, as if expecting him to make the first move. His empty smile widened at the invitation but as he took a step a forward, a loud crack reverberated through his head and suddenly, he found himself falling to the ground, his legs for some reason too weak to support him.

Bloody hell!

It took a moment of battling an overwhelming dizziness before he realized that a fourth attacker had gotten behind him and that the sickening crack he'd heard was something hard connecting with the back of his skull. He blinked rapidly, futilely attempting to clear his darkening vision and stand up, but his body refused to obey, refused to move.

Damn it!

He tried to focus ...he tried to ... 

The last thing he saw was the brunette's limp body being dragged away before unconsciousness finally claimed him.

(***)

_One day later ..._

Ran stood, posture erect and head high, when he heard the clatter of keys in the lock outside his Tower room. This was it, the moment that had been so long in coming, the moment he had expected for the past decade, ... the moment he did not want.

The last thought made him pause: he didn't want this? No, that wasn't right. He did want this. He needed this to end, all this running, all this guilt ... he needed it to finish ... didn't he?

/ "You still have me" /

Four simple words, said softly, said gently, said genuinely, as if they represented so much more than their face value.

'Damn you, Ken,' Ran thought as the door creaked open. 'Why did you have to come in here and turn everything upside down? Why did you have to come into my life and turn everything upside down?'

All his convictions, all his plans now laid scattered before him, the path now unclear and undesirable, all because of a pair of understanding brown eyes and the haunting echo of heartfelt words.

Expecting a pair of armed guards to lead him to his execution, Ran eyes widened slightly in surprise when one of the regular Tower guards stood at the open doorway, face impassive as he said, "You're free."

The redheaded captain fought hard not to gape. Instead, he rapidly collected himself and confidently strode out of the cell like the nobleman he supposedly was. Although his pace was steady and unrushed, his mind worked furiously to reason out what might have happened to cause this turn of events. 

Could it have been Bess? It must be. Who else could it be? Who else had the resources and the power to free him?

Suddenly, he felt lighter, and as he stepped out of the shadow of the Tower into the midday sun, he couldn't help but smile slightly at this unexpected, yet fortuitous, occurrence. His mood brightened even further when he saw Kit's familiar figure waiting for him outside the gates, eyes shining and lips grinning. Ran shook his head good-naturedly: how he had missed that man.

"Captain! It's good to see you again," the older man said as the redhead approached. He dearly wanted to hug the boy he had watched grow to manhood but knowing Ran's discomfort with shows of physical affection, he settled for a pat on the shoulder instead.

"The feeling's mutual, Kit." Ran widened his smile and the first mate was struck speechless for a moment. He had rarely seen the captain display such open emotion before and frankly, the redhead was breathtakingly handsome when he did so. But there was something different about the younger man now - he seemed a little more carefree, a little more relaxed he seemed happier.

"How did you know to come?"

Kit shrugged. "That Admiral Whyte told me to meet you here. Said something about a case of mistaken identity. Then he packed up his men and left."

"Must be the Queen's handiwork," Ran said as he turned around. "Come. I'm eager to see the Redemption again. How has she been during my absence?"

The first mate chuckled and followed his captain, making companionable conversation as they strolled their way westward toward the docked ship. Ran listened intently as Kit relayed what had happened while he was gone, nodding his head at the maintenance report and raising an eyebrow at the mention of Ken's newfound self.

Ken.

He couldn't deny that he wanted to see the younger man again. He didn't know what he would do or say when the time came, but that was all inconsequential right now. All he knew was that yesterday, he had resigned himself to his fate and now, after their heated meeting, he was strangely happy to be free. He couldn't understand why but now, he had all the time in the world to muddle through the confusion of his emotions.

It didn't seem long to Ran when they finally made it to the docks and when the Redemption came into view. His chest nearly burst with pride as he took in her proud form sitting restlessly by the quay. Sunlight streamed over her main mast and intricate rigging as her crew scampered to and fro like diligent work ants, up keeping her routine maintenance and filling her hold.

He was home.

Increasing his pace, Ran briskly walked - or rather, ran - up the gangplank and onto the deck, his sense of homecoming increasing each time a crewman stopped what he was doing and shouted a 'welcome back, Captain'. Of course, he acknowledged every one of them with only a solemn nod and a serious expression, but deep down, he couldn't remember feeling happier. And, he was eager to find Ken.

Striding purposefully toward his cabin and greeting the passing crewmen as the implacable captain he was on the way, he mentally toyed with the words he would say to the brunette when they met again. But for the life of him though, he couldn't seem to string two comprehensible words together. Finally making it to his room, he opened the door and stepped in, partly expecting to find the younger man there but only encountering emptiness.

He was probably somewhere else on the ship, Ran concluded as he turned to leave. But then, something stopped him. He didn't know what it was or why he seemed drawn to the desk, yet, nevertheless, he found himself rapidly covering the short distance that separated that piece of furniture and him. 

It was just a piece of parchment really, nothing special about it to set it apart from the myriad of others that were habitually scattered on his desk. In fact, it blended in quite nicely with the neighbouring maps and navigational instruments that sat innocently on the polished surface. But something about it caused an uneasy feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach.

The writing looked familiar, ... not his, but Ken's. Gingerly picking it up, the young captain began to read.

/*  
_Captain,_

_I was told when I came aboard that as a slave, I would have to work off my debt before I was granted my freedom. I believe I have paid it off, Captain. In giving you your freedom and your life, I consider myself absolved of any debt I may have incurred. Thus, as a free man, I have decided to leave and see the country my mother had once called her home._

_Remember, Captain, your life is a precious thing. Live it well, and Godspeed._

_Ken_  
*/

Ran reread the words over and over, as if the next time through, the scribbles would somehow take on a different meaning. His grip tightened on the thick parchment, eyes rescanning the lines and mind oblivious to the shaking hands that made it difficult to do so. Something constricted inside him, a twisting pain that strangely masked the sense of loss he tried not to feel, that he would not allow himself to feel.

Yet, he felt ...

/ "You still have me..." /

Ran crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it onto the desk. How dare he 

He felt ...

Ken had lied to him. Ken had lied. All those things the brunette had said in the Tower No one, absolutely no one, lied to him.

He felt ... he felt anger.

Ken had no right leaving like this, not when Ran had his slave papers tucked away in that very desk, not when Ran still owned him. He had no right ...

Suppressing a grunt of rage, he stormed out of his cabin and onto the deck, eyes immediately searching for Kit. Spotting his first mate on the quarterdeck, he stomped up to the man and ignored the curious stares that were thrown his way.

"Where is he?"

Kit turned at the near shout, expression puzzled by the repressed fury he saw on Ran's face.

"Who?"

"Ken. Where is he?" The redhead glared at the older man, expecting an accommodating answer, and expecting it immediately.

"I don't know, Captain. He came back last night and said he was going to a tavern with a friend. When he didn't return this morning, I merely assumed he might have overindulged a little too much." Kit paused, watching Ran's eyes grow darker. "He'll probably be back later today. Why do you ask?"

"He's gone, Kit," Ran stated a matter-of-factly. 

The older man saw something - Desperation? Sadness? Helplessness? - flicker briefly across the redhead's face at those words before it was replace with a look of barely leashed-in anger, but it was so fleeting that he doubted it had even happened. Before Kit could respond though, Ran had marched away, his every motion screaming with repressed rage.

"Wait, Captain, where are you going?" the first mate asked as he began to chase after the redhead.

Ran didn't even stop when he answered his old friend's question. "To bring back what's mine."

(***)

Schuldich ducked as a compass was thrown his way, the resulting clunk of the brass instrument as it hit the floor enough to cause his aching head to pound even more heavily. He stared warily back at the enraged man standing behind the desk, green eyes secretly looking for some further indication of the captain's fury other than the flashing, hazel eyes and the sudden flinging of the flying object.

"Find him," Crawford said levelly to Schuldich, the calmness of is voice barely concealing the dangerous consequences that belied it. "I don't care how you do it, but find him."

Ignoring his debilitating headache, the redhead glared back openly. "Why? It wasn't my fault that he was kidnapped! He's your toy."

Crawford straightened at his crewman's defiance. "Do you think I care who's at fault? I'm ordering you to find him, as a captain to a subordinate. No arguments, Schuldich, or I'll have you punished for mutiny and thrown off this ship."

The younger man felt his body stiffen at the threat.

"Fine! I'll do it," he threw back as he began to walk out of Crawford's cabin. But then he stopped, and turned to his captain. "What's so important about him anyways?" 

Crawford stared back, his hooded gaze not revealing any answer or indicating any intention of responding.

The redhead was intrigued. "Why, Captain?"

Eyes gleaming mischievously, he sidled up to the older man. "Why do you obsess over him so much, hmm? Did he do something to you? Do you want revenge? Is that it? Or does he remind you of someone from your childhood? You know, perhaps he's a missed opportunity that you're trying to rectify now? Come, what is it about him, Crawford?"

The dark-haired man continued to stare at him, expression unchanged as he let the tirade of questions finish. And then, "You think I let my surroundings shape me into who I am, force me to do the things I do? No, you've got it wrong, Schuldich. I shape the world around me, not the other way around."

Schuldich remained silent for a moment, absorbing and digesting Crawford's toneless words. Verdant gaze rising to meet hazel, he soon asked softly, "How badly do you want him then?"

And just as softly, he got his reply.

"He is something I've wanted since before I can remember. And I don't care what I have to do to get him."

(***)

Ran let out a tired breath as he entered the tavern, the sixth one he'd been to that day looking for Ken. He scanned the room, and noted the shady clientele that lingered drunkenly within the none-too-clean walls. As the sky had gotten darker, so had the patrons he'd encountered in the taverns he'd visited near the London docks. And that was not to mention his mood.

As night had descended and the day wore on, Ran found his rage cooling somewhat, but his anger lingered, a simmering, dormant heat that he refused to let go, refused to dispel. He didn't know why he held onto it so stubbornly; perhaps it was to keep him focused on the task at hand, or perhaps it was to help him deny the other feeling that had unknowingly crept up on him - desperation. Whatever it was, he didn't care, not as long as the end result was the same. He would find Ken. He had too.

At the light tap on his back, he turned around to see Kit standing behind him, eyes communicating his lack of success in his own search for Ken. They had split the known dockside taverns between the two of them in hopes of covering a larger space in a shorter amount of time. But by the dejected shake of the first mate's head, Kit had met with as much luck as him.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I couldn't find him."

Ran nodded, accepting the sad fact. "Where else could he be, Kit?" He tried hard to keep the frustration from his voice, and thought he did an admirable job.

The older man shrugged. "I don't know. I ..."

"What?" The young captain look down at his first mate to see why the older man had suddenly stopped speaking. "What is it, Kit?"

"That man. The one with the long hair." Following his friend's gesture, Ran caught sight of the person Kit was referring to sitting with a drink in a dark corner of the tavern. "He was with Ken last night."

He didn't need to hear any more. Before he could stop himself, Ran was striding across the rancorous room, eyes focused dangerously on the sitting redhead. Not giving any thought to his actions, he brushed aside the empty chairs in his way as he approached and yanked the longhaired man to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

"Where is he?" Ran growled into the startled man's face as he violently shook his captive. Anger and desperation mingled within him, blinding him and spurring him into being something far removed from his usual detached self. He heard yelling and shuffling behind him, drunken sailors and the like encouraging a fight that looked inevitable. But Ran ignored them, his sole intent being the extraction of information from the man trapped in his grasp. Pushing the other redhead back and banging him hard against the blackened wall, Ran shook him one more time. "Where is he?"

The initial dazed look gave way to narrowed, green eyes as they stared assessing back at the irrational captain. Lips moving into an uneven smirk, he asked, "Who?"

"Don't play games with me," Ran gritted through clenched teeth. "Ken. Where is he?"

Schuldich raised an eyebrow. "Ken? Is that his name?"

The young captain tightened his grip on the man, jerked him forward and banged him back against the wall. This time, Schuldich couldn't hide a wince as an arresting pain darted through his much-abused head.

"For the last time, where is - "

"Well, well, if it isn't the treasonous captain?"

Ran froze at the sudden pressure of a metal gun barrel against the skin of his temple, his gaze slowly traveling over to the gunman standing to his right. Deadly, hazel eyes stared back, locks of ink black hair rakishly framing a cold, emotionless face. He cursed himself for being so careless as to let this man sneak up on him. Having a pistol pointed at his head by a complete stranger was not how he had wanted this day to end. He felt the redhead in his hold relax as the new arrival kept his gun trained on him.

Schuldich looked over and smiled. "What took you so long, Crawford?"

End Chapter 7  



	8. Return to Sea

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 8: Return to Sea _

"Who are you?" Ran asked quietly as he loosened the grip on his captive and slowly straightened, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired stranger. The hard metal of the pistol remained steady against his head at the movement as the barest hint of a mirthless smile graced the unyielding expression of its wielder. Odd, but Ran received the impression that anything more than that restrained emotion would have been entirely out of character for this man.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the longhaired redhead shift slightly and soon felt his hands being shaken off as his former victim rearranged his attire into some semblance of order. Ran ignored it, his attention still riveted on the cold gun pointed at his head and the equally cold man holding it.

"Who are you?" Ran repeated, his voice and gaze now becoming deadlier as his patience slowly evaporated.

"Not someone to be trifled with, Lord Fielding," the other man replied as he watched Schuldich saunter leisurely over to stand beside him.

"Nice to know you still care," the Valiant's crewman muttered during his approach. "I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"Quiet, Schuldich," was his companion's reply.

Ran watched the short interchange with a mild interest. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir." He summoned all his natural arrogance to the fore and stood tall as he spoke to the enigmatic man who could easily kill him with a twitch of the finger. Not a trace of fear or weakness showed. Sometimes, he surprised even himself. "You apparently know me, and regretfully, I am not able to reciprocate the courtesy."

At first, the young captain didn't think the stranger would respond. The tense silence that hovered between them was too thick for any action, broken intermittently by the anxious shuffling of the watching tavern patrons. But eventually, and surprisingly, the newcomer did.

"Crawford," the dark haired man said simply, and to Ran's relief, lowered the gun. 

Situation diffused.

Almost immediately, Kit ambled over to stand by his captain, his usually jovial face replaced by one of seriousness as he sized up the new opponents. The redhead spared him only a brief glance before turning back to the two men standing before them.

"Crawford," Ran experimented the name on his tongue. He looked the man up and down, taking in the fine lawn shirt, and well cut leather breeches. "Am I supposed to know you?"

The dark haired man allowed himself a small quirk of the lips. "Fortunately for you, Captain Fielding, you don't. However, we do have a common acquaintance. I believe you know him ... a young man by the name of Ken?"

If the words didn't cause a riot of emotions to flare within Ran, then the slight mockery in Crawford's tone and the fleeting flash of amusement in Schuldich's eyes did. Fists clenching unconsciously, Ran schooled his voice into evenness to conceal the anxiousness and desperation that threatened to surface.

"Ken? How do you know him? Where is he?"

Crawford didn't answer. Instead, he passed his pistol casually to Schuldich, who complacently took the weapon as he looked inquiringly at his captain. Ignoring the younger man's curiosity, Crawford reached into one of his pockets and easily found what he was searching for.

Ran sensed Kit stiffen beside him at the potential threat and he found it to be no small feat himself to maintain the impassivity that had served him so well in the past. Before he could precisely register what the dark haired man had retrieved, a tiny piece of gold had been tossed his way, its glinting luster somehow reflecting the weak glow of the tavern's dying candles. Catching it easily, Ran stared down at the ring sitting innocently on his palm - his ring, his signet ring, the ring that had been partially responsible for his recent situation.

Quickly, he overcame his momentary shock and stared accusingly back at the man who had thrown it. "Where did you get this?"

Crawford gave a barely perceptible shrug. "That's of no consequence. What's important now is that I am returning it to you as an honourable gentleman would."

Ran's eyes narrowed. "And what do you mean by that?"

A look of what could only be called strained tolerance grace the hard features of the older man's face. "The ring is rightfully yours now. Ken earned it."

Ken had earned it? How? Ken had ...

The thought had barely settled into Ran's mind before he saw red. Fire, uncontrollable and wild, raged through his consciousness, greedily consuming every single trace of rationality that still lingered within him. Mind separated from body, he found himself lunging at the other man, the bland look on Crawford's face continuing to fuel his heated actions.

"Captain!"

Ran stopped short of contact, partly due to Kit's gruff voice and partly from the first mate's restraining hold on his arm. The redhead glanced down at the older man's tight clasp, the hand feeling like an iron band around his upper arm. He then moved his angry eyes upward.

"Let go, Kit!" The words came out more as a growl than a sentence.

"Captain, stop." Kit accompanied his calm, sane voice with a nod in Schuldich's direction.

Turning his head to the indicated person, Ran froze when he met the amused eyes of the other redhead and the cocked pistol aimed his way.

Damn it!

Taking a step back, Ran extricated himself from Kit's hold and returned his attention back to Crawford, all the while trying to calm the impulsive urge to wrap his hands around the man's throat.

"Where is he? Where's Ken?" he forced out dangerously.

Again, the barest glimpse of a humourless smile tugged at Crawford's lips as he regarded the redheaded captain with steady, penetrating eyes. He closed the gap between them, and Ran, by sheer force of will, managed not to jump at him in response to the suffocating proximity.

"To be honest, Captain Fielding, I do not know where Ken is." The man was so close; Ran could feel Crawford's warm breath caress his face. "Ken has disappeared, so for now, it seems as though we are both on the same side."

Ran waited silently, hoping that other man would elaborate further. He wasn't disappointed.

"Apparently, Ken was taken last night down by the docks. By whom, I don't know." Crawford paused, his gaze holding the redhead's as a particularly feral gleam manifested itself deep within its hazel depths. Had he been a more sensitive man, Ran may have actually been scared. As it was, he stared stonily back, letting Crawford finish what he had to say.

"It won't hurt you to know that we are both after the same thing, Ran."

The fire inside him flared, whether from Crawford's words or the casual use of his name, he didn't know. But he managed to temper it as he watched the other man through hooded eyes.

"Ken is truly something, isn't he?" Crawford asked rhetorically. "So please take my next suggestion as the honourable man you are. I propose a contest. Between just you and me. The one to find him first keeps him. The other will concede defeat graciously and sail off without a prize."

Ran hid his incredulity well, the years of rigidly commanding the Redemption showing in his self-discipline. "You're crazy," he stated plainly.

"And yet, how can you refuse?" Crawford threw back. "We don't know where he is and regardless of what happens here tonight, we'll both end up searching for him. I'm merely increasing the stakes."

The younger captain didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond to such a ludicrous proposition. In all honesty, there was no denying what Crawford had just pointed out: the moment this confrontation ended, he would certainly start looking for Ken, and as much as he didn't understand the motivations behind it, he knew he just needed to find the brunette.

Seeing Ran's silence as a form of passive acquiescence, Crawford subtly signaled to Schuldich and began to walk away, his movements arrogant and sure as he scooted around the dirty rabble of the tavern like an aristocrat among a sea of lower beings. Ran watched the two men leave, somewhat stunned and unable to find his voice.

Then, the other captain stopped. Turning to his redheaded counterpart with an uncharacteristic gleam in his eyes, he said, "Oh, and Ran ... May the best man win."

With that, he inclined his head slightly as if bidding the younger man a good day and continued on his way, Schuldich trailing in his wake. And like a fool, Ran stood immobile, disbelief, anger, and desperation warring for possession of his mind while his one link to finding Ken walked out the door.

(***)

Schuldich followed grudgingly but obediently as Crawford strode swiftly out of the tavern and toward the nearby docks. Early evening had given way to night now, the dark sky playing host to an inglorious moon as it shone weakly on the raven-haired man in front of him. Save for the brief exchange of the gun, there had been no communication between them and Schuldich didn't say anything to disturb the tranquility as they moved, preferring to soak in the events that had just transpired in the tavern.

Taunting and baiting that redheaded captain was one thing he had not expected Crawford to do; it was more his style of handling things. Still, as recent experience had shown, the older man had taken to being slightly erratic whenever that brunette Ken was concerned - a mystery he had yet to solve. The words from earlier that day continued to echo in his ears, evasive, enigmatic words that had not revealed anything to Schuldich whatsoever, no matter how deeply he had prodded.

_/ "He is something I've wanted since before I can remember ..." /_

What was that supposed to mean? How could anyone want something that badly? Want was such a trivial thing, a flaw in the human character that opened oneself up to nothing but trouble. It was not as if one could not survive without getting what one desired; it was all an illusion, a collapse of the mind into a state of vulnerability that left one unguarded to an attack from others. If anyone had asked him, no one ever really wanted anything, let alone another human being.

"Schuldich."

He looked at his captain, wondering why the man had decided to stop when they were so close to the Valiant.

"What?"

"I thought I'd ordered you to look for Ken. Instead, I find you in a drunken brawl with the other redhead." Crawford's tone was calm and steady, but Schuldich had been around the man long enough to hear the carefully laced anger in the words.

Straightening up defensively, the younger man stared back. "I was doing exactly what you ordered, Cap-tain." He enunciated the title in a show of defiance. "You are aware of the amount of information that can be plied from soused tongues, are you not? I was merely biding my time when that man came at me from nowhere!"

Crawford didn't speak for a moment as he looked at his crewman's expression of indignation. And then, "Well, go find him then. And now more excuses."

"You're not serious, are you?" Schuldich blurted out in disbelief. "You weren't serious about that ridiculous contest you mentioned back there, were you?"

The older man stared back, unperturbed. "You've known me for some time now, haven't you, Schuldich? Have I ever not been serious?" When the redhead failed to respond, he continued. "Now go. Like I said before, if you refuse to follow orders, I'll have you thrown off the Valiant."

Schuldich bristled at the threat, his natural arrogance at odds with the number of orders that had been thrown his way recently.

"Aye, Captain," he grumbled mockingly, eyes flashing verdant fire at his own degrading subordination.

As always, Crawford ignored his crewman's disrespect of authority and took the younger man's words at face value. He resumed his walking then, leaving the redhead behind, but suddenly paused to add an afterthought.

"And remember, I don't expect you to step foot on board the ship unless you've made significant progress, understand?"

Schuldich simmered, but seeing no outright sign of disagreement, Crawford took it to mean that his instructions had gotten through to his crewman, and thus, promptly strode away.

The former stowaway watched the departing man with assessing eyes, his chained pride begin tugged at by Crawford in the threat that had been so carelessly thrown his way. It was not as if he couldn't survive if he left the Valiant. He would ...easily ... for survival was a game he'd mastered long ago. But the truth was, he didn't want - no, not that; he didn't_ feel_ like leaving.

Grumbling to himself, Schuldich turned around and walked in the direction opposite to the one Crawford had taken, retracing his steps from earlier and moving away from the ship he had made his new home. Struggling moonlight illuminated his path, it pale luminescence eerily reminding him of the attack he had encountered not too far away the night before. The conditions had been exactly as they were now, imagined shadows and illusory sounds constantly bombarding the unsuspecting mind. Schuldich forced himself to ignore this fact, preferring instead to concentrate on the task at hand, impossible as it was. His footsteps fell softly upon the wooden walkway, barely audible in the encompassing silence as he unconsciously exuded the stealth of which he had become so proud.

At first, he didn't notice it but as he continued the walk, his acute senses picked up a second set of footsteps, quietly echoing the rhythm of his own stride so as not to be noticed. Whoever was following him was doing a damned good job, skillful even, if he really thought about it. Surely, it couldn't be another ambush, not tonight of all nights, not when his head still throbbed from the last time, and he was in such a bad mood that murder was the foremost thing on his mind.

Deciding to get this over with, he stopped, and abruptly turned around. Sharp, green eyes searched the weak shadows cast by the surrounding ships, and a thoroughly annoyed brain cursed the lack of illumination.

"I know you're there," he said loudly. "So you might as well show yourself before I decide to become less friendly."

No response.

And then, a telltale squeaking of the boards alerted Schuldich to the emerging silhouette several metres away from him.

"It's me."

The deep, heavily accented voice, wizened and aged from years of living, sounded foreign to the redhead. Angrily wondering why the moon seemed to have gotten dimmer, he strained to make out the figure as it neared him: a short, slightly round stature, an almost bald head with a sprinkle of grayish hair around the fringes, a glinting, penetrating gaze ...

Schuldich's eyes widened as realization suddenly set in. He straightened and cast his face into an expression of frozen apathy as he coldly acknowledged the now familiar man. "Wilhelm."

The man quickened his steps until he stood directly in front of the redhead. Wise, blue eyes carefully scanned the taller figure, as if to verify the identity of the person before them.

"Hi - "

"Don't call me that," the younger man cut him off. "It's Schuldich now."

Wilhelm remained silent for a moment, and looked to be mentally playing with the name. "Guilty?" he asked, puzzled.

An amused half-smile formed on Schuldich's lips. "Fitting, isn't it?"

"But ..." the older man seemed to have troubled expressing his thoughts in english, but Schuldich humoured him by raising an inquiring eyebrow and waiting.

"But ...Schuldich does not seem right ..."

The redhead's empty smile widened. Eyes sparkling, he leaned down toward the shorter man so as to make his next whispered words heard. "Oh, no, on the contrary, it's perfect. All that blood on my hands and I didn't feel a thing. If I can't feel the guilt, then I might at least bear its name."

Still rather confused, Wilhelm decided to ignore the other man's words. "I have been searching for you for a long time. You are planning to return, no?"

Harsh laughter suddenly filled the night as Schuldich moved away from the older man. "Not in this lifetime," he answered when he finally managed to compose himself.

Wilhelm again seemed to be at a loss for words, and settled for just a careful scrutiny of the man before him. 

Having had enough of this forgettable conversation, the redhead began to walk away. But then, an idea occurred. Looking back at the old, bewildered face, Schuldich grinned his wicked grin. "Wilhelm, I have something for you to do. I need you to find a kidnapped man ..."

(***)

Cold ... he was cold. And thirsty ... he was so thirsty. His throat was so parched, he couldn't help but let out a small cough.

Unconsciously, Ken hugged himself to retain what little heat he had, but as prior events slowly flooded into his foggy, legarthic mind, he forced his body to ignore its current discomforts and relax. He did not know where he was or who had attacked him so it would do no harm to pretend unconsciousness until he had a better understanding of the situation.

Stilling his body, he opened his sense to his surroundings and relied on his hearing to tell him what his closed eyes couldn't. The rhythmic lapping of water greeted his ears, its lulling sound usually calming to the tensed nerves but presently, he felt anything but calm. The hard floor he was lying on lurched gently all of a sudden, and he automatically shifted himself to counteract the movement. However, in doing so, the familiar, yet condemning, rattle of metal fill the air around him like sweet, haunting music. It didn't take long before his muddled mind finally grasped where he was: in the hold of a boat, chained ... again.

"Are you awake?"

Ken tensed at the soft words, although he didn't know why. It wasn't as if he had never been locked away with other slaves before. In fact, he'd been confined in the dank, airless bowels of various ships with so many other unwashed bodies that sometimes, the mere presence of a small crowd caused him to gasp for air. But somehow, he surmised, his time on the Redemption had made him forget all that. The Redemption ... 

"Are you awake?" the voice repeated, a heavy cockney accent tainting the question.

Ken slowly opened one eye to get a better assessment of his environment, and was surprised to see the hold illuminated, dim as it was. That in itself was quite a departure from the pitch black prisons into which he'd been locked before. The space before him was bare, no openings in the walls or cargo on the floor. But sitting huddled on the opposite side of the hold were two others, both looking like small shadowed shapes that were barely more than angles of light and dark in his blurry vision.

"Yes," he croaked, his voice cracking slightly from the dryness of his throat. Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, he shook his head to clear the remaining cobwebs that still lingered inside, and then leaned back against the nearest wall. He winced inwardly when he heard his chains clink and glanced dispassionately down at the offending metal before returning his attention to the two others in the cabin. They looked young, boys who were perhaps three or four years younger than him. And they looked scared, one thin frame leaning against the opposite wall, hugging his knees and refusing to raise his head from its stooped position, and the other sitting against the corner as if he was trying to meld into the wood.

Ken turned to the one in the corner, guessing it was he who had spoken. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know," the boy responded quietly. "I was 'elping out on the dock, tryin' to earn meself a few shillin's and the next thing I know, I was wakin' up 'ere." His hand moved unconsciously to brush a few errant locks of dark hair from his face, the resulting rattle of his wrist shackles the only sound to echo in the ensuing silence.

Ken nodded, carefully assimilating the information. The boy's story sounded similar to his, yet it still shed no light on who had kidnapped them.

"And him?" Ken inclined his head to the defeated looking figure sitting across from him.

" 'e woke up just a little before you did."

And no doubt his story would mirror theirs, Ken concluded. He leaned his head back against the wall and let out a tired sigh. It seemed that fickle Fortune's wheel had turned once more, and he had been pushed to the bottom, a position he had become all too familiar with in the past. Why was it that he was always trying to claw his way back up? Why was it that fate always taunted him with the ambrosia of freedom only to take it all away without a by your leave? He was simply too exhausted from this never-ending cycle...

But he would survive. He always survived. That was his blessing ... and his curse. Some considered it to be an inborn strength, but he preferred to call it stubbornness and pride, an unstoppable drive to show the powers that be he could overcome anything that was sent his way. No matter how tortured his mind and body had been, he had always managed to live through it. Thus, it would be no different this time around. And the first thing he had to do was forget his brief sojourn on the Redemption ... and Ran ... because if he wanted to retain his sanity in the days, months, and years to come, he would have to erase his brief moment in the sun from memory. He didn't need to know about, didn't want to know about everything he could have had, but never got.

The ship, her crew ... her captain ... they had been a dream, nothing more than a glorified illusion of something he could never find. The only thing that was real was the cold, hard metal around his wrists. Solid, substantial, permanent ... this was real, not airy and fleeting like the brief happiness he'd experienced on the Redemption. She was not real. She was only a dream ... she had to be, because if he believed otherwise, he would be putting his own survival - and soul - in jeopardy.

(***)

Ran repeatedly traced the outline of the ring in his palm as he stared out the window of his cabin. The Redemption was still moored and thus, the scenery he was presented with consisted of no more than the struggling afternoon sun gracing its scant rays on the drab townscape of the London docks. Bow legged sailors, young and old alike, mingled openly with the scantily clad, over-rouged dockside prostitutes, both providing the ultimate depiction of lower-end life. It was standing here, watching the lot that society had cast upon other human beings that reminded Ran of how much he had missed the ocean. Out there, no rules existed, no expectations were made, and no person was judged. It was nothing more than him and the forces of nature, a situation he much preferred when compared to the strictures of 'civilized' humanity. He was his own master, made his own rules. And damn anyone who dared state otherwise.

Thinking on it now, Ken had been right. He hadn't realized how deeply he'd missed the open sea. The vast blue skies, refreshing clean air, and endless reflective sea fueled within him a homesickness he couldn't describe. Yes, Ken had been right: that feeling, that sense of power over one's own destiny was something worth fighting for ... was something worth living for.

And Ken ... 

"Where are you?" he whispered to himself, wishing some divine voice would answer him.

What had happened to him these past two months? Where was the man who had guided the Redemption through destructive storms and deadly open-sea raids? Where was the man he had been before Santa Domingo? That man wouldn't have cared if he lost a crewman, not this much at least. He wouldn't have ever put so much of his resources into finding one man. And he wouldn't have felt this twisting emptiness inside him whenever he thought of moving on with business as usual.

"Captain?"

Ran turned at the new voice. "Kit, I didn't hear you come in." He pushed away his maudlin thoughts as he watched his old friend approach. He carefully searched the first mate's expression in hopes of finding evidence that the man had good news. Good-humoured eyes and a semi-smile told him nothing much for Kit always looked to be in a pleasant mood.

"I knocked but you didn't answer so I let myself in," the older man explained. 

"Any news?" Ran could barely hide the anxiousness from his voice. He felt something inside him lighten when Kit broke into a smile and nodded.

"Some of the crew and I poked around the docks this morning," he started. "It seems that two days ago, a ship left port bearing south by southeast. Now, that would not be worth noting but the odd thing is, this ship left in the dead of night with only a quarter moon."

Ran heard the unspoken connotation. For a ship to set sail during darkness either meant the crew was highly skilled or just plain crazy. "Do you think Ken was on that ship, Kit?"

The first mate shrugged. "It's a guess, but it's all we have right now. Besides, the night Ken was kidnapped matches the departure time perfectly."

The redhead listened to the reasoning, part of him - the new impulsive side - wanting to take the gamble, and the other part - the rational captain side - wanting to consider all plausible possibilities first.

"Captain, what do you want to do?"

Ran looked up into Kit's expectant face and for a moment, he could not answer. He was now faced with a choice he would have easily made two months ago without hesitation, but now now, something was different. Not chasing after Ken was not even under consideration.

"How are our supplies right now?"

"Our hold is full, Captain."

"And the Redemption?"

Kit smiled. "She's ready to set sail on your mark. The crew has had her ready to go the moment they heard that Ken was missing. They miss him."

The young captain met Kit's smile with a small one of his own. "Then prepare to set sail, Kit. It looks like we're headed for the Mediterranean."

"Aye, Captain." The first mate gave him a small nod, his face glowing with approval as he turned to carry out the captain's orders. But before he left, he stopped to look at the redhead with fatherly eyes. "It's good to have you back, Ran."

The younger man was taken by surprise at the words, but it passed. Returning the older man's warm look, he said quietly, "It's good to be back, Kit."

(***)

"Did you find him, Wilhelm?" Schuldich stared detachedly down at the shorter man, his look of boredom effectively masking the anxiousness churning within him. The new arrival nodded as he approached, his dull muffled steps vibrating imperceptibly along the wooden walkway. They were meeting again where they had spoken the night before, the scene uneasily reminiscent of then as well: a waning moon making shadowed monsters of every object on the docks, obscuring all and leaving much to the imagination. The mundane predictability of these London nights were beginning to annoy Schuldich, but he easily recognized Wilhelm's figure now, and was eager to learn what news the man had discovered. Having been away from the Valiant since last night, the redhead was tired and cranky, a combination that did not bode well for anyone near him.

"Two nights ago, a ship set sail from here, heading south. Mediterranean, I think" Wilhelm explained, his words so heavily accented that Schuldich was tempted to ask him to speak in their native tongue. "Your man might have been on there."

"The Mediterranean?"

Wilhelm nodded. "Ja."

"Perfect." Storing the information away, the redhead smiled coldly and gestured for the older man to come closer as if wanting to share a secret. Wilhelm complied.

When he was near enough, Schuldich embraced him in a loose hug. "Thank you, Wilhelm," he whispered. And with that, the younger man dropped his right arm down between them and then jerked it upwards. The balding man's breath hitched, eyes widening as he tried to pull away but was stopped when he felt the taller man's left arm holding him tight. 

Schuldich kept the fake smile plastered on his face as he drove his previously concealed knife deeper into the other man's chest, reveling in the smooth trickle of blood that glided down Wilhelm's chin. Imploring blue orbs stared confusedly back at him.

"Why ... ?" the dying man croaked.

The redhead looked as if the answer was obvious. Bending down so he could whisper into his victum's ear, he said, "Because it was only a matter of time before you betrayed me as well ..." 

Straightening slightly, he looked down to see Wilhelm watching him with surprise, but then, the full meaning of those words took hold, and his expression changed to one of sad compassion.

"Hi - "

"I said," Schuldich abruptly yanked out his knife, his sudden anger sparked by both the understanding in the old man's eyes and the hated name on his lips. "Don't. Call. Me. That."

Gasping and choking wretchedly, Wilhelm sank slowly to the ground, his sorrowful gaze never leaving that of his own murderer. But Schuldich forced himself to look away as the man succumbed to his final death throes. He didn't need to see this, didn't need to be reminded of a past he would sooner forget, didn't need to know about the compassion - compassion for him - that was dying on the dirty London dockside

Tossing his knife down by the soon-to-be corpse, he turned away and began to walk back to the Valiant. He had a task to complete, and far be it for him to spare a thought for one dead man.

(***)

Something was happening above deck. Ken could hear it in the muted shouting and shuffling that penetrated as far down as the hold. He listened carefully, trying to make out the words from the screaming voices but it was to no avail.

"What's 'appening?" the dark-haired boy who he had learned was named Tim asked.

"I don't know."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the whole ship shook from a thunderous boom. Bracing against the wall to steady himself, Ken looked upwards, his theory now confirmed.

"We're under attack, or we might be attacking, I don't know."

A quiet whimper came from the third boy in the room as he huddled further into himself.

"What do we do, then?" Tim asked, fright and a hint of hysteria tingeing his voice.

"There's nothing we can do, not locked up and chained like this." Ken shook his shackles to emphasize his point. "We just have to wait."

The dark-haired boy nodded, ceding to the calmness he heard in the older man's tone.

Thus, they waited, occasionally pushing themselves against the wall to absorb the impact of the cannons and alternatively holding their breaths as echoes of clashing steel made its way down to them. 

Ken fought against the images that surfaced in his mind, images of a god-like fighter who had dashed headlong onto a Spanish frigate, images of that redheaded warrior parrying and thrusting with his peerless sword amidst a horde of angry Spaniards. 

The brunette closed his eyes and shook his head. No, don't think about that. He'd promised himself to forget, to erase all memory of his time on board that ship.

For what seemed like an eternity, the noise went on, and being trapped inside the hold with nothing to tell time save for the shrinking tallow of two candles, it may have even been days for all Ken knew. But finally, the screaming and the pounding stopped, leaving a silence that was almost deafening in its wake.

Sitting up straighter, the oldest of the three strained to hear what was going on above deck.

No luck.

After another brief wait, the hatch finally opened with a gust of cool, refreshing air. Ken breathed deeply to clear the staleness from his lungs and looked up to see what was happening. Almost immediately, he was blinded by the glaring sunshine, but noting no food was being dumped down like the last two times the hatch had been opened, he wondered what they were doing up on deck.

Before long, he heard virulent shouting and pained grunts coming from the hole. Blinking the residual spots from his eyes, Ken regained near normal vision just in time to see a small body being dumped unceremoniously into the hold, a dull thump and a rattle of chains marking the new boy's arrival.

"Damn it all to hell," the stranger muttered as he rolled slowly onto his hands and knees to regain his bearings. When he finally found some sense of orientation, he tilted his head up to stare accusingly at being so roughly manhandled. And that was when Ken got a good look at the boy: dirty blond hair that reflected the brilliance of the midday sun framed an almost angelic face, two clear cerulean eyes that reminded the brunette of the of the ocean on a fine, bright day shining in the light. And he was young very young. But all too quickly, the hatch was slammed shut, depriving the occupants below of the fresh air and warm rays that would usually be taken for granted, and casting everyone into shadows once again.

The recent addition shifted into a sitting position and looked curiously around at the others. "Well, at least I won't get lonely," he said, attempting to inject some optimism into the situation.

Ken's lips quirked up slightly. "That's only if we feel like talking," he retorted good-naturedly.

The blonde smiled. "If you don't say anything, I'll have to do all the talking and then you'll be begging for me to shut up."

That elicited a small chuckle from the brunette. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Oliver Michael Ian."

Ken raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty long name."

The boy continued to smile, his lightness of personality seeming infectious, Ken found.

"I know. A kid with a name fit for royalty, my friend always said. But if you want, for short, you can call me Omi."

(***)

_Two days later ..._

Arithmetic had never been his favourite subject, Ran mused wryly as he played around with the coordinates on his charts. An odd thing for a captain to dislike now that he thought about it since the men on his ship relied heavily on him to safely navigate them through anything and everything. But the problem wasn't so much in the numbers and calculations as it was in the lack of destination. 

Ran dropped his quill, leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and sighed. He had no idea where he was heading, although he had acted otherwise in front of the crew when they had left port two days ago. For lack of a concrete destination, he had randomly picked southern France to be the next port, but from there, he didn't know where to go. 

This was hopeless. He realized that in reality, Ken could be anywhere in the world while he, like a blind misguided knight, was chasing imaginary dragons and pretend witches. At that thought, he wondered when he had stopped believing in such tales: through the heavy mists of time, he remembered the stories his mother used to tell of far off lands, brave heroes, beautiful princesses, and happily-ever-afters. As a child, he had been so entranced by those worlds that he'd been adamant about finding his own happily-ever-after. But somewhere along the line, he had lost that dream, letting it subconsciously slip away with his youth as the harsh reality of life had taken over.

Losing everything one loves tended to harden a soul, he concluded as he sat up again to play around with his charts. He let the smooth rhythm of the ship soothe him, sensing the calmness of the clear, blue waters dance in perfect tandem with the accommodating grace of the Redemption. He had missed this feeling, this lulling trance of comfort and familiarity, and it was something he would not give up so easily again.

"Captain! You have to come see this!" Kit's sudden and rushed words caused the redhead to look up from his work. The first mate had only popped his head in the cabin for a moment and by the time Ran had stood he was gone.

Walking quickly out on deck and into the hot, afternoon sun, Ran looked around for Kit. As usual, the man stood on the quarterdeck, brass spyglass read at his arrival. 

"What is it, Kit?" the young captain asked as he mounted the few short steps and approached the grey-haired man.

The first mate didn't say anything. He merely handed Ran the spyglass and pointed to his right, off the starboard. Taking the offered instrument, the younger man brought the glass up to his eye and looked in the indicated direction.

"What do you think it is, Captain? Spanish?"

Ran shook his head and lowered the scope. "No, it's too small."

"Corsairs?"

The redhead cringed inwardly at the thought. Encountering the infamous Mediterranean counterparts of the Caribbean pirates was not something he wanted right now. "Perhaps, but I can't tell from this distance. I'm in no mood to tangle with our European cousins, but it could easily be a ship in distress and I can't just abandon them out there."

Kit nodded, knowing very well the unwritten code of the sea. "What are we going to do then, Captain?"

Ran handed the spyglass back to his old friend. "Prepare to change course, Kit. But approach with caution. Make sure the crew is armed in case of an attack."

"Aye, Captain."

That decided, Ran went back down into his cabin and found his sword. As he strapped the weapon to his waist, he couldn't help but remember how Ken had helped him with it the last time he had taken the thing out. That man seemed to have permeated every corner of his life, his presence lingering in almost everything he said or did. Brushing off the sudden sadness that had suddenly descended on him, the redhead walked back on deck with a single-minded purpose: concentrate on the task at hand, not him ... not Ken.

He had once heard that the sea was a harsh mistress, but standing on his ship at that moment as she cut a swath through the pristine waters, he could not fathom where such a saying had come from. Blue upon blue, the horizon stretched so far that it was not difficult for a man to imagine he was the only being in the universe. And Ran loved it, he loved everything about it the possibilities, the openness, the freedom ...

Before long, the foreign ship they had spotted earlier came into view, and Ran, driven by curiosity, ordered the crew to bring the Redemption alongside her.

Three large masts stood proud and tall as the unfamiliar sails flapped lightly in the breeze. Her hull was sleek and slim, adding to the graceful lines of her entire design. But whereas her appearance screamed elegance, it was her deck that drew Ran's attention.

It was empty. Completely empty.

"A ghost ship," he heard one of his crewmen whisper, and almost immediately, all the men made various signs to ward off the supposed evil. Ran couldn't blame them: sailors had always been a superstitious lot.

"She's dead in the water, Captain. What do you want us to do?" Kit looked inquiringly at the redhead, unsure himself of how to proceed.

"Gather several men for a boarding party," Ran commanded, his eyes never leaving the desolate deck of the strange ship. "I want to see what she carries in her hull."

The first mate nodded and shouted for some volunteers. Not surprisingly, there were very few. But with an efficiency that only Kit could exude, a small party of four was ready within minutes.

Wanting to solve this mystery, Ran quickly swung over the small gap between the two ships with the rest of his crew. Landing easily on the deserted deck, he sent each of the men to investigate different parts of the ship, reserving the captain's cabin and the hold for himself. The men left with their orders solemnly, in all likelihood as uncomfortable with the eerie atmosphere as he was.

After a little bit of scouting, the young captain finally found the hatch that led down into the hold. He yanked the boards open and left it as such so that enough sunlight would shine through and eliminate his need for a lantern. Feeling slightly apprehensive, he unsheathed his sword and slowly descended the creaking wooden steps into the encompassing darkness. 

It took a moment before his eyes could adjust to the sudden absence of light, but as he moved deeper into the hold, he could make out a scattering of wooden crates stacked against the walls. 

Strange. Why would a ship with cargo be drifting in the middle of nowhere without a crew?

The question had no sooner entered his mind than he heard the unmistakable swoosh of a blade. Ducking and rolling instinctively, Ran swiftly righted himself and turned, sword at the ready. Violet eyes darted back and forth, trying to make out a human shape among the shadowed outlines of the various boxes.

And then ... a flash of metal.

Ran parried, deflecting the blow down to his right with his sword. Before his unknown assailant could recover, he swung his own weapon up in the direction of where the unseen body should be, but was met with the sound of his own blade being blocked.

Whoever he was fighting was good. Extremely good.

After a few more similar attacks, Ran could feel the sweat slowly trailing down his forehead and his own breath hitch in his chest, the stuffy, humid air bringing him to the brink of exhaustion all that much faster. 

This could go on forever, he thought. This faceless person was matching him in every move, parry for parry, riposte for riposte, and with the equalizing effect of the surrounding darkness, there was no quick way to decide a winner, especially if the offensive and defensive moves were acted on and reacted to only when it was close enough to see.

And then, it occurred to him. If he was this exhausted, then likewise could be said for his mysterious opponent. Forcing his breathing into being long and deep, he concentrated on listening for the other person's heavy breaths.

There! Off to his left!

Sword poised, Ran lunged, and missed. But he wasn't aiming for a kill: following through with his motion, he glided right by the stranger, the warm body so close, Ran could have sworn he felt his enemy's heat through the layers of clothing. Now knowing exactly where his opponent was, he struck. Kicking out his leg, his boot connected with soft flesh, the stranger stumbling backwards and into the steady stream of sunlight that shone through the open hatch. 

The young captain was slightly shocked at what he finally saw of the formidable fighter with whom he'd been engaged. The man's naked shoulders and chest heaved heavily from the recent overexertion, but his hand still held tightly to the cutlass he wielded so well. Dried blood obscured half his face and plastered part of his shoulder length hair to his head, but what strands weren't covered glowed gold in the bright light. Yet what drew Ran's attention were the man's eyes - eyes of an unearthly, changeable green, a colour he had seen only once in the waters of an exotic lagoon he'd accidentally sailed into back in the Caribbean. And in those eyes right now burned a crazed fire that the young captain knew would be almost impossible to extinguish.

  
End Chapter 8


	9. Kindred Spirits

_Some geographical notes: _

_The Straits of Gibraltar_: In ancient times, this place was known as the Pillars of Hercules. A narrow passageway composed of Northern Morocco and Southern Spain, all ships had to pass through here to gain access to the Mediterranean Sea, making it a strategic spot during naval wars.

_Marseilles (or Marseille), France: _I'm not too familiar with the layout of this port city so please excuse any errors I may have made in describing it. My guess is that the _Old Port_ (ou le _Vieux Port,_ si vous préfèrez) was not called that during the time of this story, but I left it as that since I do not know what else to call it. It was and still is the hub of activity in Marseilles, being the main port for all sea bound traffic. It was not until the nineteenth century when a more modern port was built to handle the overwhelming traffic and larger steamboats. _Canebière_, once a market/shopping district, was not called thus until the seventeenth century, but I've used some poetic license and made it exist during this time. Incidentally, the name _Canebière_ came from the Provencal word, _canèbe_ (hemp), for a rope factory that once existed in the city. During the Middle Ages, the local factory wove the hemp, collected from the drained marshes at the end of the Old Port, into rope for rigging the ships using the port.

(***)  
  
_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 9: Kindred Spirits_

The unnatural warmth of the Atlantic had somehow seeped into the dark hold, raising the humidity in the confined space to an almost uncomfortable degree. Taking in a stifling breath, Ran tightened the grip on his sword - his grasp of the weapon becoming tenuous at best with his sweat-covered palms - and reasserted his defensive stance.

Eyes intent on the crazed blonde, he spoke as calmly and as firmly as he could. "I'm not your enemy, nor am I here to hurt you."

Deep down, Ran knew his opponent wouldn't hear him, or his rational tone. He knew from those blazing green eyes that reason and sanity had long been removed from the equation. And he knew without a doubt that words and deliberation would never reach his enemy's mind. But he had to try nonetheless, the urgency of his situation becoming clearer every moment he dallied in the bowels of a so-called 'ghost ship'.

As Ran's intuition had predicted, the blonde ignored the redhead's words and charged, cutlass raised and throat growling. A flash of steel and a blur of movement were all the warnings Ran had of the imminent attack. He barely had enough time to react before he felt the jarring vibrations of his own sword as it blocked a sideswipe of a blade intended for his throat. Stumbling back a few steps to regain his balance, he wondered amazingly at how a wounded man could still posses such strength. Yet, as his eyes delineated the now shadowed outline of his attacker, he understood that clear thinking and endurance were on his side, seeing as how that head wound would eventually begin to hinder the blonde. All he had to do was bide his time. Locking his wrists and sword back into his defensive stance, he stood, braced in anticipation for the next attack.

And the blonde complied. With movements more based on brute force rather than finesse, the injured man continued to lunge and swipe at the redhead, his actions becoming increasingly unpredictable and erratic as the fight progressed.

Ran was hard pressed to keep the other man's sword from connecting with its target. He could feel his own perspiration begin to blind him as it rolled irritatingly into his eyes and fatigue began to set in. He marveled at his opponent and his ability to keep moving without faltering all this time.

The thought had no sooner entered his mind than the latest slash from the blonde forced his back up against one of the large wooden crates that littered the hold.

This was it.

This was his chance.

Narrowing his eyes in an attempt to better discern the other man's blade, he could literally feel his heart jump out of his chest when he saw the flash of steel swing lethally toward him in a downward stroke. Reacting with the lightning speed he had perfected from years of raiding and pillaging enemy ships, Ran ducked and upon hearing the dull crack of his opponent's cutlass embedding itself into the wood behind him, he struck from his crouched position.

His left fist connected with the other man's midsection, the hit accompanied be a soft cry from the blonde. Ran had no doubt that the other fighter must have felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him, but before the man could recover, the young captain attacked again. Reversing his sword so that the blade pointed toward himself, the redhead quickly brought his right arm up and struck the blonde on the side of his head with the unyielding metal of his hilt. Ran regretted taking such a drastic action against an injured opponent, but he saw no other way of incapacitating the man.

Almost immediately, he felt the blonde sway toward him, knees bucking and pained grunt indicating a slip from semi-lucidity into unconsciousness. The redhead dropped his sword and caught the man as he fell, his overexerted muscles protesting loudly at the sudden deadweight in his arms. But he didn't let go. This man seemed to be causing more questions in his already confusing journey as it was, but in all conscience, he couldn't abandon him here in the middle of nowhere.

Shifting the heavy body he was supporting, Ran straightened and looked curiously down at the blonde's blood-obscured face. That crazed fire in those ephemeral eyes ... that incredible strength and desperation in those dangerous attacks ... the young captain wondered what the man had seen to have brought him to such a state. To lose all grasp of reason and to not hear the rational words he'd spoken meant that the blonde must have been exposed to something worth forgetting. And to be on this ship alone ... 

Ran brushed the questions aside. He had things to do, a ship to command, ... and Ken to find. He would ask the unconscious man later what had happened. Unanswered questions and enigmatic puzzles were something he could never let alone. But first ... first, he had to collect his men and head back to the Redemption. Once there, he would decide his next course of action.

(***)

"Was it worth it?" Ken's words broke the serene silence that had descended over the empty deck, the boards devoid of human presence save for him and the tall, slim man leaning against the railing. He casually walked up to stand beside the redhead and looked over at the man, patiently waiting for his question to be answered.

The afternoon sun shone lovingly down on him, highlighting the strands of burnished crimson atop his head with an intensity that was enough to take Ken's breath away. But it wasn't the striking features of the man that truly captivated him; no, it was the confidence in his bearing, the arrogant tilt of his head that awed the brunette. Even now, after all he'd been through, Ran still managed to exude a regal grace in his every action, its intangible quality surrounding him like an enduring mantle.

Seeing that the young captain was not going to answer, Ken turned his head to observe the endless blue horizon with the man. To call the ensuing moments uncomfortable would be a mistake. On the contrary, as he stood there with Ran, soaking in the vast openness of the world around him and the warm presence of the man beside him, he could never remember feeling so much at peace. And that scared him. Thus, he forced himself to break the silence and spoke. 

"Was it worth the fight to win all this back again?" His gaze never left the sea, subtly letting the redhead know to what he referred.

Ran did not respond immediately, instead, choosing to let his attention linger on the unpredictable patterns of the lapping waves. Then, he nodded slightly in agreement.

Ken looked over, but despite his prior experience, he still had a difficult time trying to read the implacable set of the older man's face. After a few moments of quiet scrutiny, the brunette finally looked away and returned his eyes to the sea, accepting the fact that he would never really be able to understand the enigmatic captain. Having settled once more into the encompassing silence, he nearly jumped when Ran's steady voice broke it.

"What happens now?"

He didn't need to turn to know that Ran was staring at him, expecting a response he didn't want to give.

"What happens now, Ken?" the redhead repeated. "You go your way and I go mine?"

Ken felt something inside him clench at what he was planning to say, but he knew that the stubborn captain would not relent unless he answered.

"Yes," the brunette replied quietly, but firmly, eyes closing in a futile attempt to block out whatever reaction would arise from his companion.

"So you're planning to leave all this behind, to just walk away and forget about the ship, the crew ... " Anger slowly wound its way into those words, and as loathed as Ken was to have been responsible for it, he knew it was inevitable.

"Say it, Ken! Say that you can just leave all this behind without any regrets ... say that you can walk away without looking back ... say that you can forget about me ... "

"Yes!" Ken whipped his head around to look directly into the blazing violet fire of the captain's eyes, his own anger - unknown in origin - coming to the fore. Perhaps it was what Ran had just challenged him to do that had caused it. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was afraid of what would happen if he did say those things. He didn't know.

"This is a dream, Ran," he said sharply. "And I can't have that! I want to survive, but I can't do that without forgetting all this." He threw his arm out, and gestured toward nothing in particular, but at the same time, toward everything. "Don't you understand? I can't have dreams!"

The redhead's expression softened somewhat, as did his voice. "But is that so bad? Not just to exist, but to have a dream, to have a wish, to have something to aim for?"

Now it was Ken who remained quiet, although the contradicting denials running rampant within him fought to make it otherwise. Unable to respond rationally, he turned away, hoping to hide the doubts and insecurities that were doggedly trying to confuse him.

'Stupid fool ... not me,' he wanted to say. 'I can't have dreams...'

"Wouldn't it be worth it?"

Ken stiffened as his own words were thrown back at him, their connotation exacerbated by the calm, rational tone of Ran's voice. But he didn't turn around. He refused to look back at the redhead and expose all his weaknesses to the man, or anyone, for that matter.

All of a sudden, he felt a slight pressure on his shoulder, the light contact initiating a wave of heat that languidly snaked its way throughout his whole body. If he had been endowed with any less willpower, he would have easily leaned into the touch, or perhaps into the other man's secure embrace altogether. But as it was, he stood resolutely still, every muscle tensed as Ran spoke once more.

"This is it then?"

No answer.

Without warning, the hand was removed and Ken almost cried out at its absence. Yet, he forced himself to stay as he was. He couldn't turn around ...he couldn't ...

"Goodbye, Ken."

He knew the redhead had started to walk away, knew that this would be his last chance to stop the course his life had taken 

Then, Ran's dull footsteps paused, and he felt an inexplicable spark of hope ignite somewhere inside his chest.

"But let me tell you something, Ken: if you leave, if you walk away right now and forget about everything you have here, then you're the biggest hypocrite I know." And with that, Ran was gone, the creaking of the boards fading away to nothing at the redhead's departure.

Yet, it was only then that Ken turned around, soulful brown eyes reflecting everything he had wanted to say but didn't. Subconsciously, he knew why he had stayed silent, knew why he had let it all just slip away.

He was selfish. To have stopped the older man, to have agreed to everything that had been verbally thrown at him would have taken more out of himself than he ever dared to risk. He was afraid, afraid of what would happen if he let himself go, afraid of the potential happiness that could easily become part of his life. He had done that once, and he had promised himself that he would never again feel the shattering pain that followed when it was all taken away.

But still ... the young captain's parting words lingered hauntingly in the air. 

Looking longingly at the spot where the older man had just stood, he let out an almost inaudible whisper.

"Ran ... "

(***)

"Ken."

Someone was shaking him, annoyingly and persistently shaking him and he didn't like it.

"Ken, wake up."

Slowly and reluctantly, Ken opened his eyes. The stark walls of the ship's hold greeted him, driving into his mind the hopelessness of his situation as awareness began to reassert itself. Rubbing the fatigue from his face, he pushed himself up against the wall of the makeshift cell, all the while ignoring the condemning clink of his shackles.

So it had been a dream: the Redemption ... and Ran.

Dreams were such dangerous things.

Even if the redheaded captain had been but an image conjured up by his sleeping mind, he could still feel a knot form inside his chest, twisting and tightening to the point where he was sure he'd suffocate.

He had to forget it all, he reminded himself. How many times did he have to force the stubborn presence of that man from his mind? Nothing good ever came of wishing for something one could never have. All it would cause when everything was said and done was pain ... a pain that he knew he was feeling at that very moment, although he was trying his damnedest to deny it.

"Who's Ran?"

Ken stiffened at the name and stared wide-eyed at Omi's innocent face. "H-how do you know that name?" he asked as he tried to keep his voice steady. He quickly peeked over at the other two sleeping boys in the hold to make sure they wouldn't overhear what was being said before returning his attention back to the blue-eyed blonde.

Omi smiled sympathetically at his sudden discomfort. "I don't. You were just mumbling it in your sleep."

"Oh." The single syllable escaped the brunette's lips like a relieved sigh. "Sorry if I disturbed you."

"Don't worry about it." The blond boy shook his head to emphasize his statement. "So who is he? You don't have to answer if you don't want to but you seemed so agitated while you were sleeping that I thought talking about it might help."

Omi spoke so warmly and honestly that Ken was loathed to lie to the boy. Ever since he'd been so unceremoniously dumped into this floating prison, he had been anything but unkind. In fact, Ken had found it rather refreshing to be near the newest arrival. Tim and the other frightened boy, who had yet to disclose his name, had spoken only when spoken to, but Omi Omi remained an endless source of energy and optimism. Despite their bleak and uncertain circumstances, the blonde seemed to exude a lightness of attitude that had kept them all afloat in a fathomless sea of despair that could have easily consumed them. Ken appreciated this and was secretly thankful to the younger man for simply being.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'd prefer not to talk about it," he said quietly. "Ran was a man I once knew and let's leave it at that."

The smile Omi gave him then was somewhat sadder than his usual cheery one, as if he could see the pain Ken was trying so desperately to ignore. "If you wish," he replied just as softly, instinctively knowing that his new friend would talk to him when he was ready.

The brunette was grateful for the subtle tact of his companion and relaxed against the wall behind him, glad to let the subject drop. That was until he heard some unfamiliar shuffling and shouting above deck. Straining to make out what was going on, he didn't notice Omi stand up and appraise the sealed hatch.

"That's another reason for waking you up," the blonde said. "It sounded like something was happening and I couldn't tell what." He glanced across the candlelit room and then, back at Ken. "And I didn't want to wake the others seeing as how they had finally managed to fall asleep."

Ken nodded in agreement. Their two quieter cellmates had had a more difficult time adjusting to the predicament than he and Omi: being ripped from one's comfortable and familiar surrounding, thrown into the hold of a ship without a by-your-leave, and kept unaware of one's own fate was enough to scare anyone. Ken had been able to cope with the upheaval only because this had been his way of life for the past several years. And Omi, ... Ken didn't know what Omi's story was or why the younger man took everything so casually, but he wouldn't question it.

It took a few more moments of concentration before Ken figured out what was happening. The difference in the ship from when he'd fallen asleep and now was so obvious that he silently berated himself for not realizing it sooner. The lull and rhythm of the ship had changed, now somewhat more subdued and less dramatic.

"We've docked," Ken stated plainly as he stood and stretched his cramped muscles, his chains clinking a mocking tune as he did so. "But whether this is our destination or not, I don't know."

Omi acknowledge his observation, and returned to stare assessingly at the closed hatch. "How high do you think that is?"

Ken stared up and shrugged. "I'm not sure. Perhaps eight or nine feet. Why?"

The blonde turned to give his companion an enigmatic smile, cerulean eyes sparkling. "I think we can escape."

"How? There's no way to get up there unless they drop the ladder and even then, we have the crew to deal with."

Hope was something Ken refused to entertain. Even now, when the determined set of Omi's face sparked the beginnings of the wretched feeling, he fought valiantly to quell it. Self-preservation was his main concern.

"When was the last time they fed us?" Omi continued to mentally measure the size of the opening. 

"I don't know. A while ago but what you're proposing, it's not possible. There's no way of getting up there without - "

"I can do it," the blonde cut him off with a serious tone. "But I'm going to need your help."

Ken shook he head, disbelief apparent on his face. "How? How are you going to get up there? And if you do, what are you going to do about our captors?"

The younger man turned his clear blue gaze at the brunette then, and for a fleeting moment, Ken felt the unwanted hope flare inside his chest.

"I'll show you what you have to do. And if what you say is true, if we're really docked then most of the men up there will be on shore leave. I can easily take care of the ones left on board, and drop the ladder down for you and the others."

"But Omi, you can't - " The pessimism in Ken's tone had the younger man riled.

"I can do it, Ken. I'm stronger than I look." The obstinate set of the blonde's jaw was enough to quiet any more objections.

Could Omi truly do it, Ken wondered. But what would it accomplish? If life had taught him anything, it was that Fate was a fickle fiend, and that escape always meant re-capture, no matter how hard he tried or how far he ran. In the end, it was never worth the effort - pain, and anguish being the only products he had ever been left with. But that gleam in Omi's eyes the determination on his face ... it was almost enough to sway him. He hated this decision he had to make, but looking around at the two sleeping bodies and at Omi, he realized that it wasn't solely his freedom at stake. 

"Fine. I'll wake the other and you can tell us your plan."

(***)

The rocks of Gibraltar had always been a stunning and impressive sight, the brown-red structures standing bold and proud as they timelessly guarded the entrance into one of the prized jewels of Europe - the Mediterranean Sea. The phenomenon itself was said to be natural, the stones placed like giant sentinels along the narrowed strait on a geographical whim, but to Schuldich, it looked as if the hand of some god had reached out and fashioned the makeshift guardians atop those cliffs. He vividly remembered the first time he had sailed through here three years ago, standing on the very deck he was on now and feeling the cool Atlantic breeze caress his face as it had back then. That time, they had been sailing in the opposite direction, away from Europe and into seas unknown, away from his home, and away from everything he had been. It felt rather strange now to be coming back so many years later to the place where it had all began.

Moving his gaze away from the nearby scenery and his thoughts from the unwanted memories, he turned his attention to the dark-haired captain lingering near the rail. They had set sail almost immediately after Schuldich had returned with his tidbit of information, the Valiant apparently having been ready to cast off for a while. If nothing else, Crawford was definitely efficient, the redhead gave him that much. But still, he couldn't understand what all this fuss was about.

"Why are we chasing him?" Schuldich asked - almost insolently - as he approached his captain.

Crawford didn't even acknowledge his presence as the redhead moved to stand beside him. "Does it matter?" he countered in a flat tone.

The former stowaway affected his usual air of nonchalance, and waved off the other man's rebuttal. "No, just curious." And yet, as the words left his mouth, he suddenly had a feeling that he'd asked out of more than just curiosity. Not wanting to explore that avenue of thought, he quickly changed the subject. "Where are we headed?"

"Marseilles."

"France," Schuldich whispered under his breath. So they were going back to where it had all began for him, back to the port where he had snuck aboard the Valiant three years ago. It seemed as if everything had come full circle, only this time, he wasn't half-starved and desperate. "How do you know if that's the right place? Or if he really came this way at all?"

Crawford finally spared his crewman a glance. "I don't," he answered simply. "But I know that I will find him. He belongs to me."

The conviction with which those words had been spoken was enough to silence the inquiring redhead for a while. Staring once more at the majesty of the cliffs, Schuldich let the scene take away the awkwardness that had settled somewhere inside him. Sturdy, stalwart and true, those stones stood, knowing nothing of the deadly betrayals and evil machinations of humanity. How he envied them ... No, he didn't envy them. He ... he never envied anyone or anything.

Finding his unconcerned voice again, he decided to drown out the direction of his musings by speaking. "Have you ever considered another possibility, Captain? Have you ever considered the fact that your Ken might already be dead and this whole trip is a fruitless - "

Schuldich never even saw it coming. One second he was talking and the next, he was reeling from a backhand across the face. But the stinging on his cheek barely had time to register before instinct took over and he returned the hit. Crawford's head snapped back from the force of impact, and yet he brought his gaze back to the redhead once the moment passed, eyes piercing and face devoid of all emotion.

Schuldich rubbed his stinging face as he stared stonily back, his usually detached mask effectively covering the disbelief that was slowly spreading through his body. And the captain ... the very nothingness of the man's response was enough to cause something akin to fear to bloom in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, Crawford leaned toward him, prompting the redhead to take a reflexive step back. In a tone that was cold enough to turn his blood to ice, the older man said, "He isn't dead, Schuldich, because he wouldn't die on me. And even if he desired it, I wouldn't let him."

With that, the dark-haired captain moved away, leaving the redhead to dwell on his own recent actions and those words.

(***)

/**  
_"Where are we going, Youji?"_

_"**I'm** going wherever my feet take me."_

_"You're running away again, aren't you?"_

_Pause. "I never run. I swagger."_

_"That's not what I meant ... "_  
**/

He recognized the voices for the dreams they were, but leaving the warm, comforting void where they echoed so musically was the last thing on his mind. Reality was always harsh, abrupt, and unforgiving. Why would he want to return to that when he could easily bask in this for eternity?

_/**  
"But you promised you wouldn't run, Youji."_

_"Promised?"_  
**/

A promise? Made so long ago, made so recently, made so often ...

Yes, a promise. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't run. He couldn't abandon the sorry existence that had become his life. He had promised.

Opening his eyes had to be the most singularly difficult task he had ever had to perform. And when the wooden boards above him finally came into focus, he seriously wished he hadn't dragged himself back into consciousness. His head pounded with an intensity that almost defied description, as if a dozen gold miners had been diligently digging through his skull and had yet to find their fortune. And he was thirsty; God, was he ever thirsty.

With no small amount of effort, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and barely managed to stay upright when a disorienting dizziness assaulted him. A quick check of his head told him it had been tightly bandaged but even that couldn't stop the debilitating discomfort he felt. Taking in deep cleansing breaths, he braced his arms on the feather mattress until the vertigo lessened to a bearable level and finally took in his surroundings. Elegantly detailed wood furnishing and chests were scattered neatly throughout the moderately sized room, their polished richness and indisputable taste enhanced beautifully by the setting sun that filtered in from the large window behind the grand oak desk.

He was on a ship then, he concluded as he watched the gentle swaying of the scene in the window. But whose ship was it?

Forcing his aching body into motion, he swung his legs onto the cold floor and realized he was completely naked. It didn't take long for his eyes to fall upon a pair of loose breeches and comfortable cotton shirt on the chair beside the bed. He reached out and grabbed the anonymously offered clothing but paused when he noticed his cutlass leaning casually against the said chair.

Curious.

Whoever had brought him here was either extremely trusting or a complete idiot. It took several painful attempts before he managed to get himself into the breeches, but as he reached for the shirt, he heard approaching footsteps outside the cabin. His hand quickly veered and clutched his sword instead, physical discomfort forgotten and survival instincts taking over. He wasn't strong enough to stand, but he could use the bed to push off of and hope his one lunge would be enough to knock over his opponent.

He heard his heart beat heavily in his ears with anticipation, annoyingly exacerbating the pounding in his head, but he consciously forced the distraction to the back of his mind.

Pain was immaterial. _His_ pain was immaterial.

He barely had any time to dwell on that thought before the door finally swung open. Not bothering to look at the newcomer, he pushed off the bed and charged toward the stranger, his muscles screaming at the unthinking abuse. He must have moved too slowly or the new arrival must have had quick reflexes because he missed his target entirely, and tumbled ingloriously to the ground, sword clattering harmlessly onto the wooden boards.

"Finally awake, I see," the stranger said as he bent down to retrieve the discarded weapon.

He looked up from his demeaning position on the floor and froze at the sight above him. A young man stood in the doorway, face shadowed by the dying sun that shone through the entrance and hair glowing crimson as the already red-tinged illumination danced off the bright strands. He had always prided himself on being a good judge of character and the feeling he received from this man was fairly unthreatening.

"Who are you?" he asked in a hoarse voice as he accepted the help the newcomer offered and stood.

"My name is Ran Fielding. This is my ship, the Redemption, and you're in my cabin," the redhead stated as he escorted the injured man toward the bed.

Letting out an involuntary sigh as he lowered himself onto the mattress, the blonde assessed his helper. A captain, then. The man looked too young to be a captain. But then again, he, of all people, knew there was no such thing as 'too young'.

"Captain," he acknowledged in the way of greeting. "How did I get here?"

Ran sat down on the neighbouring chair, threw the shirt that had been its previous occupant onto the bed within easy access of the blonde, and placed the cutlass back into its original position. "We found you on board a completely unmanned ship and brought you here." 

Unmanned ship? How had he ended up on an unmanned ship? And then, a deluge of unwanted images came crashing through his mind, forcing upon him a pain that more than drowned out the pounding of his head.

"W-was I the only one you found?" he asked, his voice shaking of its own accord.

"Yes," the redhead responded, violet eyes focusing intently on the blond man. "We checked the whole ship and found no one."

The bandaged head nodded. "And how long have I been unconscious?"

"A little over two days," Ran explained. "But I don't know how long you were on that ship for before we found you."

The injured man didn't say anything to the veiled inquiry, his green eyes staring at some fascinating spot on the floor.

"Our next port is Marseilles," the young captain said in deference to the blonde's unwillingness to provide information. "If you'd like, we could drop you off there."

"Yes, that'd be fine," the other man replied, silently grateful to the redhead for leaving all the questions he must have had unasked. He needed time to sort and analyze what had happened before telling anyone what he remembered.

Ran nodded and rose. "We should be there tomorrow. Until then, get some rest." So saying, he walked the short distance to the exit and left the cabin with a click of the door.

And he was left alone again.

The blonde looked down at the shirt on the bed and decided to put it on to ward off the sudden chill he felt as his familiar friend, emptiness, settled itself inside his chest. It seemed that no matter what he did, he always ended up alone. One would think that he'd learn the futility of trying to change Fortune when the lady herself had demanded that a solitary existence was always to be his fate.

(***)

They had done it.

Ken couldn't believe it as he and his three fellow captives darted through the crowded marketplace in hopes of putting as much distance between them and their prison as they could. Odors of overcrowded humanity and fresh fish mingled obtrusively in the air, leaving Ken to breathe through his mouth to avoid smelling the stench.

A fish market. A fish market in the port city of Marseilles, Ken had been told by Omi, who had asked one of the residents during their madcap dash from the ship. 

Ken still could not believe how well the young blonde's plan had worked. He had done as the boy had instructed and given Omi a boost to jump through the hatch the moment it opened. If he didn't know any better, he would have guess that Omi was some sort of acrobat with the way he moved. The captors hadn't expected such an aggressive action by their young prisoners and were taken by surprise when Omi easily dispatched them. Not long thereafter, the blonde had thrown down keys to their shackles, and lowered the ladder, allowing the rest of them to escape. As they had predicted, most of the crew had left the ship but when the four young captives had made it onto the gangplank, the few sailors still on board had discovered their escape attempt and were now giving chase.

"Ken, we're in the Vieux Port right now. Just keep going, and we should be into the Canebière. We'll lose them there for sure." Omi's voice held such confidence as he directed them through the cobbled streets. The blonde had been here before, Ken had deduced, but what he was unsure of was if the younger man's knowledge of the city was enough to help elude their captors.

The brunette nodded and glanced back to see how Tim and the dark-haired boy were doing. The former was keeping up with his and Omi's pace easily, but the latter ... Ken was beginning to lose sight of the smaller boy.

"Omi!" Ken got the blonde's attention and gestured toward the lagging member of their quartet. The younger man had no sooner received his friend's silent message than a muffled scream reached his ears.

"Ken," Tim yelled breathlessly. "They got 'im."

Damn.

"Over here," Omi said loudly and led them into a nook nestled between two fish stalls. The space was small and reeked of days old fish, but it was dark and allowed them a fairly clear view of the street without being visible so it would have to do.

"You two wait here," the blonde boy stated. "I'll go see if I can rescue him."

Ken's mouth dropped at the preposterous idea. "Omi, that's just crazy!" He grabbed the younger man's arm as he turned to leave. "There's no way you can help him!"

A calm smile met the brunette's angry expression. "Don't worry. I'll be fine," he soothed and pulled his arm free. "I don't like to run from problems, Ken. It's something I've always lived by. You would do well to remember that too." And with an enigmatic sparkle in his eyes, he ran off before Ken could stop him.

The brunette cursed a blue streak as he was left alone with Tim. Eventually, he began to cool down, his anger slowly becoming worry as the two of them watched the streets from their hiding spot for their missing companions. Ken wasn't too sure how long they stood there for, waiting to discover the fates of the others in a city they knew nothing about, but when he saw the familiar shrinking figure of the frightened dark-haired boy moving slowly down the street, Ken's heart almost jumped into his throat.

"Ken," Tim said to get his attention.

"I see him." The brunette peeked out further to check for pursuers and when he didn't see anyone, he ran out and dragged the boy into their obscured nook.

"Where's Omi?" Ken demanded immediately.

Wide brown eyes stared back at him, their unnatural sheen probably a result of tears that had yet to fall. "T-they t-took him," the boy stuttered.

Damn, damn, damn!

Ken straightened and ran a tired hand through his brown locks. Now what was he supposed to do? Being the oldest, he felt partially responsible for leading these two boys but he had no idea where he was, and the very people they were trying to get away from had captured the only person who knew anything about this town. Looking into the apprehensive faces of his companions, he finally came to a decision.

"Tim, take this." Ken reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the fake ring Crawford had tossed at him what seemed like years ago. He had kept it on a whim but parting with it now seemed like a good idea, especially since it was made of gold. "If I don't come back, use it to find passage back to England."

The boy looked questioningly at the brunette as he took the ring. "Ken, you aren't goin' to - "

Tim didn't finish his sentence. The older man had left, moving through the thinning crowd in search of a head of golden hair. He skirted around vendors and customers, heading in the general direction of the docks, but as time passed, he was beginning to doubt he'd find Omi without going back to the ship itself. Eventually, he decided to stop to take note of his position and catch his breath.

"Well, well, isn't this nice? The prey has decided to return to the hunter," a voice said behind him.

Ken didn't know that he had been spoken to but then it occurred to him that the words have been said in English, not the local French.

The first thing he noticed as he turned around was a slumped figure hanging lifelessly from a burly sailor's shoulder, the gold strands of hair falling to obscure half of the unconscious boy's face. 

Omi.

Ken vaguely acknowledge two other sailor-looking types standing beside their companion as his attention traveled to the man who had spoken to him. Black hose, black doublet, and a black beard ... the brunette recognized him. Knowing now who stood before him, Ken took in a fortifying breath and raised his eyes to meet the dark gaze of his once benefactor and now captor - Nikolai Markhonen.

  
End Chapter 9  



	10. Divergence

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 10: Divergence _

_Marseilles, France  
1596_

Cities of importance never seemed to dull with time, Ran mused as he stared fixedly at the natural inlet that comprised the ocean side of Marseilles from his quarterdeck. Splotches of sunlight fought its way through the cloud-dabbled sky, casting alternating patterns of light and dark on the bustling populace of the age-old port. Centuries ago, Roman legions and great emperors had vied for control of the city, its strategic location and geography indisputably a military gem to conquerors and defenders alike. Even now, the town remained a busy place, its docks presently welcoming ships more of the commercial - and somewhat commercial - persuasion.

The Redemption was still several leagues from port, but the crew's anticipation and eagerness at being so close to shore had heightened Ran's sense of urgency as well. At the moment, he was unsure of whether or not he had chosen the correct course in coming here, the possibility remaining high that he had misjudged the situation entirely and had lost his one opportunity to find Ken altogether. Yet, he refused to entertain that notion. He knew that the brunette had only been on the ship for a short period of time and that no one - male or female - had ever caused him to act so irrationally, but strangely, he had a feeling that if he let Ken slip through his fingers, he would have missed out on something important in his life.

"So what business does the infamous captain of the Redemption have in Marseilles?"

The voice, slightly mocking and almost insolent, cut through Ran's reverie as its owner slowly ascended the few steps up to the higher deck. The redhead watched the newcomer approach, his keen sense of observation taking in the gracefully moderated movements of the tall frame and the arrogantly tilted angle of the blond head. If he was a gambling man, he might have bet that the newest addition to his ship - or Youji, as he'd learned yesterday when the blonde had awakened a second time - had some aristocratic blood in him. In the brief time that Ran had interacted with him, the man's self-assured attitude had become evident in nearly every unconscious gesture, which only led the young captain to draw his conclusions.

Youji, nevertheless, definitely looked better now than he had three days ago, Ran decided as he took note of the lightly tanned complexion that had replaced the previously pale and sallow one of the injured man. The blonde had removed his bandages some time the day before, and as much as Ran would have liked to believe that the action had been performed to indicate a remarkable recovery, he somehow knew that Youji had done it more out of vanity.

Raising an eyebrow, he finally spoke when Youji stopped beside him and turned to observe the approaching port in the distance. "You've heard of me?"

"I move around quite a bit." A lazy smile graced the other man's face. "It took me some time to regain my senses and even more time to recall where I had heard of the Redemption, but it eventually came to me. A pirate ship, right?"

"Privateer," came the redhead's automatic response.

"Privateer. Forgive me." Youji chuckled at his obviously 'glaring' error, but then his lighthearted façade became serious. "But you still haven't answered me. What is the Redemption doing here?"

Doubts and arguments ran through the young captain's head about answering that question. He knew he had no obligation to provide any information to a near stranger, and under normal circumstances, he would have dismissed the inquiry with an arrogant turn of his head. But recently, he'd discovered that he wasn't exactly acting under 'normal' circumstances - not when it came to Ken.

"Looking for someone," he replied curtly.

"Aren't we all?" There was a blatant thread of humour laced in Youji's retort, and yet, Ran received the impression that those words masked something much deeper and more somber. 

Deciding to reverse their roles, he looked over at his guest and said, "You've enjoyed my hospitality for over three days now. I only think it polite to perhaps enlighten your host as to who he is harbouring on board his ship."

The request was met with an uncomfortable silence, one that extended so long, Ran was beginning to think he wouldn't get a response. Glancing over at the blonde, he saw a look of concentration on the taller man's face as he continued to watch the approaching landscape, giving the impression that he was carefully piecing together a story so as to reveal just the right amount of information.

"I'm a mercenary. I go where the money is," Youji said simply. "My most recent home was that pretty lady of a frigate you encountered back there. She was a runner."

"She didn't look like a frigate."

A fleeting smile graced the blonde's lips. "She wasn't supposed to. She ran contraband." The taller man paused and looked over at his companion for a reaction to his statement. When neither approval nor disapproval was forthcoming from Ran's impassive mask, he continued. "But we were attacked three days out of port on our latest run. I've ... I've seen many things in my life, but the slaughter I witnessed on that ship that day could never be put into words. The difference between a fight on land and at sea, Captain, is that at sea, one is faced with the inability to run when faced with the possibility of death ... to run away to fight another day ... to run away to save one's own life. It is during times like that when I truly see human nature for what it really is: 'Man is no man, but a wolf'[1] ... nothing more than a selfish, glorified animal when it comes to slaughter and survival ... "

Youji's voice trailed off, as if caught in a memory that would have been better left unstirred. Ran stared over at the haunted look etched on that aristocratic featured face, and couldn't stop the small feeling of compassion he felt for the man. He, of all people, understood what the blonde referred to, having survived countless raids and attacks of his own and witnessed the beasts that men could be reduced to when given the right incentive. But he refused to be dragged back in time and dwell in the darkness of past deeds right now. The present and the future were all that mattered and should be enough for him to live for: Ken had taught him that.

Trying to inject some levity into his tone, he attempted to put the other man at ease. "A mercenary who quotes Roman playwrights. I believe I'm standing beside a rarity."

Those fathomless green eyes twinkled at that comment, and a corner of Youji's lips lifted in acknowledgment to what Ran was trying to do. Still, the older man needed to finish his story; he owed his savior that much at least. However, this time around, the heaviness that had descended upon his words earlier lightened. "All hands were killed in that attack. I only survived because I was unconscious and left for dead. When I woke, I found myself surrounded by the rotting bodies of my shipmates. I was half out of my mind by then, but somehow, I managed to bury them all at sea. I don't know how long I drifted for after that. I guess that must have been when you found me."

Ran didn't say anything. He couldn't. He could not begin to imagine what he would do if he awoke to find his crew dead and the Redemption empty of all life. The very thought of it was enough to cause his breathing to seize and chest to constrict. Thus, as if prompted by an unspoken agreement, the two men stood in silence together atop the quarterdeck, two statuesque figures imbued with auras that would have made royalty look on with envy as the sun danced over shimmering gold and flashing crimson and the shoreline slowly neared.

It might have only been a blink of an eye. Or it might have been an eternity. Ran didn't know how long they remained standing there, but when the outline of numerous docked ships came into view, he forced his body into action.

"If you'll excuse me," he said with his best 'captain' tone. "I have to prepare for docking." With that, he began to move away.

"Captain."

Ran stopped at Youji's deep-timbered voice and looked questioningly at the blonde.

"Thank you."

Violet eyes softened somewhat at the other man's sincere expression of gratitude. Ran nodded his acknowledgement and turned to walk down the stairs.

"If you wish to find anyone in Marseilles, the dockside taverns are the best source of information." Youji said loudly before the redhead was out of earshot. "Tongues are fast and loose with the proper inducement."

Ran caught the words and the returning sparkle in the blonde's eyes before he completely descended the few steps onto the main deck. Again, he nodded his head in acknowledgement of the advice and then, left to perform his duties.

(***)

The soft fingers of a seaside breeze reached out gently and softly caressed the side of Brad Crawford's face, the invisible hand running soothingly over his skin like a mother's loving touch. He closed his eyes and concentrated on that imaginary contact, remembering a time when his most fervent wishes would never have gotten him the filial attention he had craved so badly. But the years had passed, and the times had changed ... _he_ had changed. Instead of wishing now, he _did_. Wishing and dreaming were for the naive and the weak. No one would willingly help another, no matter how much one needed it. Experience had long ago taught him that if he wanted something, he would have to go out and get it himself. Otherwise, he would spend his life as the useless, pathetic creature he had once been.

His dark hazel orbs scanned the surrounding ships as he coasted the Valiant into Marseilles, looking for a spot along the quay in which to dock his ship. It was then that his gaze alighted on the familiar hull and mast of an already anchored ship - the Redemption. Judging the activity on deck with an expert eye, Crawford noted that his rival's ship had docked not too long ago.

It seemed like he had underestimated his redheaded counterpart's abilities, he thought as he changed his focus to the nondescript buildings and open streets of the city that peeked out from between the lowered sails and riggings of other moored ships.

Ken was here. He could feel it. The young brunette possessed a beauty and strength that had long ago saturated itself into his blood, and right now, his blood virtually sang at the man's nearness. Yes, Ken was near.

The muffled thud of footsteps coming from behind alerted him to another's presence then. Without turning, he knew who it was.

"Schuldich, you understand that your first and foremost order is to track down Ken." He kept the questioning tone from his voice and spoke with as much authority as he could.

"Aye, aye, Captain," came the unusually subdued response from the cheeky redhead.

Crawford smirked at the reply. The younger man had been on board the ship for almost three years now; it was time the crewman learned about the concept of obedience. Perhaps that slap across the face had knocked some sense into the arrogant man.

"See to it then. You know the consequences if you fail."

"Aye, Captain." Again, Schuldich responded in that new, subdued tone of his. And as the younger man slowly moved away, Crawford couldn't help but feel that such uncharacteristic subservience didn't exactly suit the redhead.

(***)

Lavender was such an enticing fragrance.

Youji inhaled deeply as he leaned over and gently nipped the neck of the tavern wench on his lap.

Yes, even if the smell was rather overwhelming and undoubtedly masked the unwashed odour of the buxom brunette, the scent of a woman was definitely something he had missed after so long at sea. Oblivious to the rancorous shouts of the sailors and the shifty eyes of society's lower elements in the tavern around him, he continued to nibble on the soft skin pressed against his lips.

"Oh, chérie, you are très délicieuse," he murmured seductively as he moved closer to her ears.

A deep-throated chuckle was given in response to his comment, and he felt the tart's roaming hands flitter invitingly across his groin.

"Monsieur, you sure know 'ow to flatter a woman," the brunette said, dark exotic eyes twinkling wickedly.

"But I was merely stating a fact, chérie," Youji countered easily and heard a surprised gasp when he found a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear. Smiling at the discovery, he continued. "I need to ask you a question, ma chère."

A rather airy groan greeted his request, one that he took for acquiescence. "I'm looking for someone."

"Alors, you 'ave found 'er," the woman whispered aggressively as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed herself closer, subconsciously begging for more attention when her dubious occupation required otherwise.

Youji chuckled at how the brunette had succumbed to his sensual magic so thoroughly. "No, chérie. That's not what I meant. I'm looking for a boy, blond hair, and blue eyes. Have you seen anyone that matches that description lately?"

The woman pulled away and straightened her back, giving Youji an odd look before answering. "Non, Monsieur. I am sorry, but I 'ave not seen."

To say that he was disappointed with the response was an understatement. This couldn't be a dead end, not for him. He refused to believe that he would be defeated so quickly. Having left the Redemption the moment she docked, he had immediately started his self-imposed quest and found the nearest tavern. Disjointed images and stuttered screams still haunted his memories but he had seen and heard enough to put a few pieces of the puzzle together. Not everyone had died on that ship that fateful day.

Not Omi.

"Oh la la ... très joli, n'est pas?"

The voluptuous prostitute on his lap may have made the sighing comment unconsciously but it was enough to snap Youji from his musings and turn his attention to what had captivated the woman. He watched curiously as a familiar redhead walked into the dingy tavern, his regal bearing and aristocratic attitude at odds with the other not-so-noble elements in the room the moment he entered. And apparently, the brunette and he weren't the only ones to notice the young captain's entrance. The greasy haired and gape-toothed clientele also turned their heads at the new arrival, curious eyes taking in the clean lawn shirt, immaculate dark breeches, and fine leather boots.

"Yes, pretty indeed," Youji murmured as he gently shifted out from underneath the woman, and saw a scraggily and drunk sailor bump into the redhead. Instantly, the young captain reached for the sword strapped to his side, eyes deadly as they trained themselves on the offender. The tension in the room suddenly escalated tenfold at the instinctive action, and Youji found himself standing up and moving quickly to diffuse the situation.

Setting a restraining hand on the redhead's sword arm, he said quietly, "It would be to your benefit, Captain, if you do not offend the locals."

Focused amethyst looked up to meet sparkling emerald, and when a flicker of recognition graced those violet orbs, the blonde felt the muscles beneath his fingers relax. Youji gestured with his head to where he had been sitting and let out a relieved sigh that he didn't know he'd been holding.

The offending sailor forgotten, the two of them walked casually toward the rickety table that he had claimed earlier and took seats opposite each other across the scarred wood. The wench, the older man noted amusedly, was sidling up to Ran now.

"Just a word of advice, Captain," Youji said to start the conversation. "Making nice with this rabble will probably get you much further than if you were to fight them."

"I have no time to act like a reprobate."

The blonde almost laughed at the petulant reply. "Don't, and see how much help you'll receive." 

But Ran merely ignored his advice, opting instead to assess the occupants of the establishment for a possible source of information. Youji sighed inwardly and shook his head.

"You're not exactly one of them, are you? You act arrogant enough to be a noble."

That caught the redhead's attention. Turning his gaze back toward the blonde, Ran said with a small smirk, "I could say the same about you."

Immediately, Youji felt uncomfortable with the sudden deflection in topic. Good humour dissipating, he forced a smile onto his lips and nodded to acknowledge the other man's retort. "Be careful where you tread, Captain. Going where you are not welcomed could have dire consequences."

Trying to act as natural as he could, he reached out and took a swig of the ale he had ordered when he'd first walked in. That done, he stood - not too abruptly, he hoped - and prepared to leave.

"Good day then, Captain," he said as he walked around the table. "And good luck in your search." With that, he moved casually toward the exit, making a point of ignoring the curious, violet gaze that followed him the whole way out.

(***)

Ran watched from beneath hooded eyes as the enigmatic blonde languidly made his way through the seedy room, his deductive skills creating possible theories about who the man truly was. Although Youji had guessed correctly in regards to his heritage, he didn't think he was too far off the mark with his own conclusion. The way the blonde carried himself, the manner with which he spoke, even the very air about him were proof enough that the man was far from common.

"It seems your friend has left you all alone ... Capitaine."

The sultrily spoken words finally brought his attention back to the table, and the dark-haired woman sitting uncomfortably close to him. Lush breasts duly overflowing from a tightly cinched half-corset and revealing bodice, and deep brown curls suspended messily atop her head, the wench's healthy amount of exposed flesh posed an enticing invitation to all female-deprived sailors. Oddly enough, Ran found that he wasn't as moved as he usually was by such a bountiful sight.

Darkly fringed eyes blinked seductively at him. "How about Mignone keep you company today?" the prostitute said as she assertively shifted herself onto his lap and laced her arms around his neck.

Ran fought to act the gentleman and not dump the woman back onto her own seat. Normally, he wouldn't mind all the attention lavished on him by a willing female, especially after a long voyage at sea, but this simply did not feel right. Images of the last time he'd taken a woman in his arms came back to him, images of Amalie so brazenly sprawled on him as he tried to erase the haunting brown eyes of a certain former slave from his mind, images of a brief flicker of hurt and betrayal on that guarded face when the brown-eyed man had been told of his purposely hurtful actions 

"I'm sorry ... Mignone ... but I'm very busy today. Perhaps next time," he said, placating.

The heavily rouged lips pouted. "Mais Capitaine! Surely you have time for just a little fun?"

Ran firmly but carefully pushed the woman back onto her own seat. "I'm afraid not. I'm looking for someone ... a young man, brown hair and brown eyes. I don't suppose you've seen someone by that description lately?"

A scratch of the chair along the questionably clean floor, and Mignone was on her feet, hands on her hips and expression of exasperation on her powdered face. "What is it with you sailor types? Did all those months at sea change your tastes for the fairer sex?"

Ran could have sworn he heard an 'hmph' before she walked - or more specifically, stomped - away, arms swinging angrily and curls bouncing indignantly. The young captain looked on in part amusement and part confusion for a moment before returning his thoughts to the more important matter at hand. He had sent Kit and his men out to see what information they could gather, but the city was large, and if the luck he had been having in the past two taverns he'd visited were any indication, he doubted the others were meeting with more success than him.

Patience, he had to keep reminding himself. Ken could be anywhere ... not only in Marseilles, but anywhere on the Continent. He didn't know how long he was planning to search, but he was not willing to give up yet. In all the years of his life, he had never had such an impossible goal to strive for, but at the same time, he realized that he had never felt such determination in attaining that goal.

"Excuse me, Sir, but I couldn't 'elp but o'er'ear. You're a cap'n, ain't you?"

The timid voice caused Ran to notice a boy of about seventeen or eighteen years who had just detached himself from the drab background of the tavern. Dirtied hair that could have been any colour of the rainbow under that filth, and beseeching grey eyes staring at him, the boy wasn't much to look at, scrawny frame visibly shaking beneath a rough linen shirt and threadbare pants.

The redhead nodded, uncertain as to why a young boy he had never seen before would approach him like this.

"Me an' a friend need passage back to England. Please, Cap'n, if you're goin' that way ... "

"Sorry, Kid, I'm not," Ran cut him off.

"Please, Cap'n. We've been 'ere for o'er a day. I - I can pay," the boy said almost desperately. Reaching into his ragged clothing, the kid managed to produce a piece of gold on his palm. "Look 'ere."

Ran was about to dismiss the plea again when the glinting metal made him pause. It couldn't be ... 

Grabbing the gold from the boy's hand, the redhead brought it closer to his eyes and was surprised by the details on the piece of jewelry: his family crest, etched with exquisite detail on the precious metal with a cursive 'F' - an exact replica of the ring he wore around his neck. But how had the ragamuffin boy come upon it? And why was there another one of his signet ring in existence?

"Where did you get this?" he demanded roughly as he closed his fingers around the gold and looked sharply at the boy.

"Eh! Give that back! I need it!" the kid yelped as he tried unsuccessfully to swipe the ring back from the older man. Ran merely pulled his hand out of reach, and placed his free one on the boy's shoulder's to still him.

"Where did you get this?" he repeated stonily.

The kid froze at the captain's authoritative tone. "From a friend," he replied obediently.

"Friend? Who? What does he look like?"

The boy shrugged, slowly becoming resigned to the fact that he might have lost his one chance to gain passage home. "What difference would it make to you?"

The childish attitude had no effect on Ran who stared silently back at the kid. Soon, the younger of the two grew uncomfortable with that penetrating glare and began to squirm.

"Brown 'air, brown eyes, ... real nice like," the boy mumbled grudgingly.

Violet eyes widened slightly at those words. "Ken ... " the young captain breathed out unconsciously.

Suddenly, the kid's face brightened. "You know 'im? Ken, I mean ... "

It had to be him. The coincidence was too uncanny for it not to be. Ran felt his pulse quicken, the blood coursing through his body at a near uncontrollable speed as the staccato of his heart echoed loudly in his ears. "Where is he now?"

The boy's face saddened somewhat. "Some bloke took 'im. Back to the ship probably."

"Ship?"

"Aye, Cap'n. The one we were chained in. We managed to escape but Ken got caught again tryin' to save someone."

Ran couldn't stop his fist from tightening at those words, the rim of the duplicate ring digging itself into his flesh. But he wouldn't be deterred ... not now. "What did the ship look like?" He managed to keep the emotion from his voice as he continued his interrogation, grateful for all the practice he'd had as captain.

The boy shrugged again, but the concentration he displayed was enough to tell Ran that he was trying to recall. "I don't remember much. We ran away so fast ... It was a big ship ... with a bull or somethin' with 'orns on the front ... "

The redhead remained silent, hoping the kid would provide something a little more detailed, but nothing else was forthcoming. Seeing the dejected look on the younger man's face, Ran reached into his pockets and tossed the boy several gold coins. Quick hands grabbed the money before the other riff-raff in the room had a chance to see the small fortune that had been thrown.

"Take this," Ran said. "When I docked, I saw a ship that could help you. Go find a clipper called the 'Misercordia'. She's a cargo ship and her captain, Robert Carrington, should be headed back to England."

The boy's dull eyes lit up at the helpful information and he quickly turned to leave. "Thank you, Cap'n!" And then, he stopped, giving the redheaded man a worried look. "You're goin' to find him, ain't you, Cap'n? Ken, you'll rescue Ken?"

Ran stared impassively at the kid and gave him a solemn nod. It wasn't much of an answer, but it was enough to send the boy on his way, happier than he'd been when he'd first approached the redheaded stranger. Alone, the young captain loosened his hold on the ring he'd been gripping and stared down at the imprint it had made on his palm. A temporary brand, an impermanent mark indirectly left by Ken ... 

"I'll try," he whispered to no one in particular. "I'll try ... "

(***)

_/ "... He's something I've wanted since before I could remember ... " /_

Schuldich grumbled under his breath, cursing the unpredictable actions of temperamental captains, and kicked viciously at a piece of rubbish that got in his way. The part of what looked to be rope skittered innocently along the wooden boards of the docks, landing a few steps away from the irate redhead, and inviting another kick as it did so.

The man had hit him! He couldn't believe it. Even after all this time, he still felt the phantom sting of that contact on his face, reminding him that he was nothing more than some unknown, expendable crewman on that ship.

Giving the discarded piece of rope another kick, he watched it fly away from his path and land beside some barrels sitting near the edge of the quay. Ordinarily, he would've just continued walking, but something caught his attention then. Perhaps it was the way the uniquely angled rays of the late day sun that made him pause. Or perhaps it was where that bit of rope had landed that stopped him. Whatever it was, his eyes were glued to the shadows cast by those large barrels. The containers weren't much to look at by themselves, chipped wood bound together by a couple of unremarkable metal bands. It was what hid in the shadows of those things that held his gaze.

A boy, maybe a few years younger than he had been when he'd first arrived in Marseilles, sat huddled in the protective darkness cast by the large wooden containers. It wasn't a bad hiding pace, Schuldich thought. What better spot to hide than in plain sight? And it wasn't as if the passing people would notice a filthy, half-starved urchin sitting on the edge of a dock. The redhead smirked at that mentality, experience having taught him that the idea may be lamentable, but undeniably true. The kid wouldn't last long though if he remained huddled there as he was. The best thing to do, in his opinion, was to stow away on a ship.

_/ "... if you refuse to follow orders, I'll have you thrown off the Valiant ... " /_

Schuldich's mood darkened as Crawford's long established threat echoed through his head.

Damn him! It wasn't as if he had to stay aboard that ship. The man had no leverage over him. He could handle himself if he was thrown off the Valiant. In fact, he should just leave right now and save Crawford the trouble.

But even as the thought entered his head, the inexplicable hollowness inside him grew. Schuldich naively rubbed his chest, absently thinking that the action would alleviate the unwelcome sensation.

What was this? Why was the thought of leaving that ship so ... so painful? Surely, he didn't actually _want_ to stay ... did he?

No, he didn't 'want'. He never wanted. Wanting was a weakness and he had drummed out all weakness in himself long ago.

Giving his head a shake, he decided to continue on his way. The captain wanted that boy back, and far be it for him to disobey the orders of that man.

"Hurry, we're casting off soon."

Normally, those words from one of the passing two sailors wouldn't have even turned Schuldich's head, but as the two burly men walked right by him, he couldn't help but notice the discoloration around the speaker's nose, bruises from a recent fight that had yet to disappear. And the companion, the second of the two sailors, looked to be favouring his right arm ... a sword arm ... 

It had to be a coincidence, Schuldich thought. But what were the chances of encountering two men who had injuries in Marseilles that were identical to the injuries he'd inflicted on his London attackers? Pretty damn low, he concluded and kept an indiscreet eye on the two men as they hopped onto a gangplank of a ship docked nearby.

_/ "... I'm ordering you to find him, as a captain to a subordinate. No arguments, Schuldich, or I'll have you punished for mutiny and thrown off this ship ... " /_

Damn Crawford! Why did the man's threat ring so true and why was it affecting him so much?

Letting out a frustrated breath, he swiftly walked over to the boy he'd seen just moments ago and threw him a few coins.

"Hey, Kid. Got a job for you," he stated loudly.

The boy jumped, startled that someone had actually approached him and spoken to him.

Schuldich ignored the predictable reaction. "Down this dock is a ship called the Valiant." Realizing the kid might not be able to read, he decided to quickly elaborate. "It's pretty big and has a carving of a soldier on the front." The redhead was slightly relieved to see understanding dawn in the wide blue eyes he was talking to. "Find the captain of that ship and tell him the Schuldich might have found what he's looking for. Tell him to find a ship called ... " He paused and looked over at the ship the two injured sailors had boarded. Squinting his eyes, he barely made out the name etched onto the vessel's hull. "Tell him to find a ship called the Minotaur. Got that, Kid?"

The bewildered boy nodded and stood up slowly, picking up the coins that had been thrown at him as he did so.

"Then go. There's more of that if you do everything properly." 

Without further hesitation, the boy left, feet flying over the boards at the promise of more money.

That done, Schuldich made his way over toward the suspect ship, observant eyes taking in the elaborate detailing of its hull and figurehead.

_/ " ... first and foremost order is to track down Ken ... " /_

Pushing that domineering voice from his mind, the redhead crept onto the gangplank he'd seen the two seamen traverse just a little while ago. If Crawford wanted his bloody toy back, then he'd get it for him. Perhaps then, he would be left in peace.

The art of sneaking on board ships was something he had mastered years ago, and apparently, it was a skill he hadn't forgotten. Quickly darting behind a few crates the moment he stepped onto the deck, he let his eyes travel over the boards to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. A flurry of crewmen were scurrying about, some moving crates while others moved the rigging and sails around, in all likelihood, preparing to cast off. If that were the case, then he would have to act quickly.

"Eh? What's this?"

Schuldich stiffened at the voice behind him, silently cursing himself for being ten times a fool in letting one of these dim-witted sailors discover him. Without warning, he stood up and lashed his leg out backwards, knocking the air from his burly discoverer with a solid kick to the chest. But in doing so, he had given away his position, the sound of the falling man and the colour of his bright hair attracting the unwanted attention of all the other crewmen. It wasn't long before he was surrounded, predatory eyes and angry faces all focused on him, the intruder.

_/ " ... He isn't dead, Schuldich, because he wouldn't die on me ... " /_

_/ " ... You know the consequences if you fail ... " /_

He could have easily dodged the punch that landed on the side of his face. Likewise could be said for the kicks that caught him in the stomach and his ribs. He could have blocked numerous hits that came his way, or at least, deflected them to less vital areas. But he didn't.

Not when he was so vastly outnumbered.

Not when Crawford's threat rang so clearly in his head.

Not when 

_/ " ... he wouldn't die on me. And even if he desired it, I wouldn't let him ... " /_

Damnit! Not when it meant failing the only person who had never betrayed him ... 

(***)

That man was too perceptive by half, Youji thought as he morosely walked his way down the docks. Had he really been that obvious? He thought that he had gotten rid of all evidence that might have betrayed his breeding long ago. But apparently, that young captain had seen something in him that gave it all away. 

But it was of no consequence now. He would probably never see that redhead again, and for that, he should be grateful. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand.

Looking around, he mentally tallied the possible places he could visit for information before nightfall: a few taverns, perhaps some people in the marketplace before it closed down for the day ...

And then, the blonde froze.

A ship casting off was a common sight in a port city. But the vessel that was slowly moving away from shore was too familiar for Youji not to notice.

Immediately, the stunned man broke into a run.

(***)

Ran leaned back in his chair, fingers playing with the newly acquired ring and eyes not leaving the glittering gold. He had returned to the Redemption not too long ago, secure and heartened in knowing that Ken was here somewhere, or at least, he had been here at one time. He had sent what men were still available to see what information could be gathered the moment he had returned, but he had not heard any word yet from Kit and the men sent out with him, or the second group he'd sent out after he had fortuitously found the ring.

Engrossed as he was with the piece of gold in his hands, he remained entirely oblivious to his door opening, and of the man who strode purposefully into the cabin to stand before his desk. Only when a bag of coins was dumped haphazardly onto the navigational charts in front of him did he become aware that he had company. Closing his fingers around the ring and looking up, he was met with a pair of hard, green eyes.

"I need your ship," Youji said.

Ran returned the blonde's stare with a cold one of his own. "I'm not a mercenary."

"For today you are. If there's not enough gold here, I can get you more later."

"I don't need your gold."

At that statement, the standing man placed his hands on the desk and leaned down so that their eyes were level. "Listen, my lord captain," he enunciated each word through gritted teeth. "I need your ship. It's the only one I know that's ready to set sail, and I can not lose any more time."

But Ran wasn't affected by Youji's demanding tone. He couldn't believe the man had the audacity to walk in here and insult him like this. "The Redemption is not for sale, and neither is her crew." 

"What do you want? Anything. Name your price." The blonde straightened and looked down at the young captain with narrowed eyes.

"I told you. I'm not a mercenary and I don't have a price."

"Goddamnit!" Youji planted a fist on the fine oak desk, causing the recently deposited coins and the various brass instruments on it to rattle. Frustration and a hint of desperation were evident on his face. "All you aristocrats are alike! Too arrogant and haughty too see beyond your own noses!"

A crimson eyebrow arched at that comment as Ran just watched the ranting man with an implacable stare. He recognized that Youji was trying to calm himself down, but even so, the man still spoke with too much aggression in his voice.

"You said you were looking for someone. Well, let me tell you something, my lord captain, you're not the only one! I am too, and the person I'm looking for is on a three-mast schooner with some god-awful minotaur figurehead that just sailed out of port. If you're not going to help me, then tell - "

"What was that you just said?"

"What?"

Ran stood, meeting Youji's frenzied gaze with expectant, yet tempered, hope on his face. "About the ship. What did the ship look like?"

The blonde man was slightly surprised at the captain's sudden change in attitude. "Three-mast schooner, rode fairly low in the water, approximately twenty gun ports, a minotaur figurehead "

That was all Ran needed to hear. Walking around his desk, the redhead quickly moved toward the exit. 

"Where are you going?" Youji asked, bewildered.

The captain paused briefly at the doorway and threw the blonde a quick glance. "Preparing to set sail. You going to help?"

End Chapter 10

  
[1] "Man is no man, but a wolf."   
- Plautus,_ 'Asinaria'_ (Often quoted as 'Man is a wolf to man')  



	11. Deadly Games

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 11: Deadly Games _

He honestly hated confined spaces.

Ken looked resignedly around him, eyes soaking in the familiar wooden planks that comprised the bland walls and bare floor of his personal prison. Sighing, he straightened his posture and tilted his head back until it met with the unyielding resistance of the boards. The rattle of metal chains accompanied his small movement, again reminding him of how little he'd achieved with his doomed escape attempt.

He was back where he'd started: chained, imprisoned, ... and enslaved.

Sometimes, he wondered how much more of this endless cycle of fleeting hope and perpetual despair he could take before he went insane. Fate did indeed have a sadistic sense of humour.

"Are you feeling alright, Ken?"

Omi's concerned voice prompted him to lower his gaze to the blonde leaning against the wall on his right. Inquisitive blue eyes and an uncharacteristically serious expression from the younger boy was enough to make him smile reassuringly, done more for Omi's peace of mind than his own.

"I'm fine," he responded in a hushed tone. "But I should be asking you that question. How's your head?"

The boy looked uncomfortable with the change of focus. Rubbing his head gingerly, he threw Ken one of his own beaming smiles, a smile that looked as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I'm fine, thank you. I should be in perfect form for our next escape attempt." The mischievous twinkle in those cerulean eyes as the blonde spoke gave him an irresistible elfin quality.

And looking at the younger boy, Ken wanted to laugh mockingly at the connotation of the lightly humoured suggestion, but instead, he turned his head away to avoid hurting Omi's feelings and stared at the lonely wax candle sitting in the far corner of the hold. The blonde couldn't be faulted for being so naturally optimistic; Ken received the impression that this was who the boy was.

"Why do you try so hard?" The question dejectedly left the brunette's mouth before he could stop it, reflecting the morose direction his thoughts had taken.

"Why do you not try at all?" Omi countered.

Ken knew without looking that his companion was staring at him, probably trying to figure out an answer to the comment since he could not - or would not - respond with true honesty. However, he understood that Omi wouldn't push if he refused to reply. That was another thing about the young blonde he'd discovered recently: Omi was as compliant and unobtrusive a friend as one could have, but when the boy could not extract the verbal information he wanted, Ken had the feeling that he somehow managed to guess it by some other means. It was rather unsettling - harmless as it may be in the blonde's mind.

Still, the brunette would prefer to have Omi with him than not. That indeterminately long period of time between when their captives had dumped them back into the hold and when Omi had regained consciousness had felt like an eternity to Ken. He had been exposed to being around people too long during his recent flirtation with freedom that he had began to fear being alone. That was dangerous, and something he would have to rectify; he had to re-accustom himself to the solitary existence he'd basked in prior to his sojourn on the Redemption.

"Life is what you make it, Ken," the blonde broke the contemplative silence. "I refuse to let Fate dictate mine, so I have to take it into my own hands. Now, if I have to attempt escape a hundred times, and get re-captured a hundred times, I will. And I would still keep trying ... because perhaps that one hundred and first try will be the one where I make it."

Omi spoke with such seriousness and conviction that Ken found it difficult not to succumb to his younger friend's beliefs. And it was then that the brunette was reminded of another time in another prison when the merits of life had been passionately debated about between the two occupants. But back then, he had been in Omi's position, heatedly arguing with a pair of stubborn violet eyes over one life's worth.

Ken sighed and leaned his head back against the boards again, gaze remaining averted from Omi's. What a hypocrite he had become. What had come over him to say those things to Ran when now, he could not believe in them himself?

'But that was who you truly are,' a voice inside him said. 'You're not really this pathetic excuse for a human being you are now. Don't delude yourself like this ...'

Ken's lips shaped themselves into a semblance of a small, humourless smile. It seemed that the bothersome presence of hope refused to die. He would have to do something about it soon.

"I admire you for your philosophy, Omi," he said without turning to his younger companion. "But I - "

The brunette didn't have a chance to finish as two abrupt interruptions caught his attention just then: the first was the opening of the hatch with the addition of a new captive, and the second was the unbalanced jerking of the entire hold. The latter, Ken could explain away in concluding that the ship had left port, but the former ... that had him puzzled - and slightly worried. He silently prayed that neither Tim nor the meek brunette had been re-captured as the new body was so roughly dropped from the opening. 

The moment the hatch closed, Omi moved to help their new cellmate just as the newcomer rolled over on all fours and groaned. 

"Are you hurt?" the young blonde asked gently as he reached out a hand to assist the recent arrival, only to have it rudely slapped away.

"I'm fine," the man growled as he shifted into a sitting position and pushed himself up against the wall opposite Ken. Omi backed away, returning to his original position for fear of offending the man.

The brunette's anger flared at the ungrateful actions directed at Omi, and Ken was preparing to protest when he was stopped by a familiar pair of glinting green eyes that glared straight at him.

Schuldich. 

There was no doubt about it: the long, orange-red hair, although a mess, was undeniable, and the tilt of the man's head, arrogant as always, was irrefutable.

"You ... " Ken breathed out as a hushed accusation.

The redhead smirked, and then winced as if the small movement had caused him pain. At the reflexive reaction of discomfort, Ken noticed a slight discoloration on one side of the other man's face and the protective way an arm hugged his ribs. However their captives had managed to subdue Schuldich, he must have put up quite a fight.

"So you really are here," the redhead said after he'd moved into a more comfortable position, gaze once again directed on Ken. "Crawford has been looking for you."

The brunette instinctively tensed at the mention of the dark-haired captain's name. "Why?" he ground out venomously.

The other man chuckled at the response, only to stop suddenly when he registered the painful repercussions of the movement. "If I knew that, I don't think I'd be here." Verdant eyes searched the younger man, hoping to find as answer to the recently asked question.

Ken didn't give anything away.

And reluctantly, Schuldich gave up. Almost teasingly, he added, "But so has that other redheaded captain."

Ken's stiff posture turned lax in surprise. "Ran?"

The taller man shrugged noncommittally.

No, it couldn't be. Not Ran. Why would Ran be looking for him? He was just another slave ... an acquisition that definitely did not warrant the pursuit of an entire ship. So why would the cold, rational captain try to save him?

Part of him was grateful that the man was safe, alive and well after his imprisonment, but another part of him was scared, frightened at what the redhead's pursuit would do to him ... and at how the prospect of seeing Ran again stirred something indescribable within him.

At a loss for words, Ken looked away from Schuldich and silently mulled over what the redhead had just said. Again, he felt Omi's inquiring gaze bear into him, but he ignored it.

Even so, he heard the young blonde speak quiet words meant only for his ears. "Life is what you make it, Ken ... "

And like the stubborn embers of an inextinguishable fire, hope flared defiantly somewhere deep inside him.

(***)

"Swing the yardarm over!"

Crawford's angry shout echoed throughout the entire Valiant deck, eventually reaching the ears of the incompetent sailor who had improperly set the sails. The man quickly moved to comply with his angry superior's order. The dark-haired captain let out a mixed breath of exasperation and frustration over the ineptitude of the men under his command. How had he ever managed to get anything done in the past with such an inferior batch?

Time was of the essence for him now, and even though the Valiant had just cleared the Marseilles port, he had quite a distance to cover before catching up with the ship Schuldich had seen to inform him about. At the thought of the insolent redhead, Crawford briefly wondered where the man was. He had received the former stowaway's message via the ragamuffin boy, but beyond that, he hadn't heard anything else from Schuldich. Not that it mattered to him of course, especially when the prey he'd been stalking for so long was again on the run. The redhead could take care of himself wherever he was; Crawford certainly didn't have the time to wait for the man.

"Captain! Ship off the aft port. We should slow down, Sir, or we might collide."

Crawford's attention turned to the horizon at his crewman's warning. Eyes narrowing, a foreboding smile made its way onto the dark-haired captain's lips when he realized what - or more specifically, who - had dared interrupt his chase.

The Redemption.

The sleek clipper and her annoyingly intrusive captain were bearing down on them, attempting to clear the same small bay as the Valiant, and by all rules of the sea, had the right of way.

'But then, what were rules but confining restrictions to be broken?' Crawford thought.

Out of habit, he turned to his right, preparing to give his orders to Schuldich to carry out, but stopped when he remembered the redhead wasn't at his usual station. Swallowing his agitation over the inconvenience, he directed his order to the sailor who had informed him of the impending collision.

"You," he yelled at the grizzled crewman. "Open the gun ports and ready them for discharge on my mark."

"Captain?"

"Just do as I say, Crewman! I want us ready to fire when that ship comes within range." Crawford's tone brooked no argument, his words imbued with an authority he had perfected in the three years he'd commanded the Valiant.

"Aye, Sir," the reluctant sailor acquiesced, and left to carry out his captain's orders.

Satisfied, Crawford returned his gaze to the approaching ship, the setting sun illuminating the hull of the sleek vessel with varied hues of red, orange, and gold - the very epitome of an artist's rendition portraying man's daring in treading upon Neptune's vast empire. A corner of the dark-haired captain's mouth quirked up higher at the prospect of ruining the serenity of the makeshift canvas before him.

It seemed that his dear rival definitely knew how to make the chase more interesting.

(***)

"Do you even know where you're heading?"

Ran threw a sidelong glance at the annoying blonde who'd asked the question before returning his attention to the helm and to guiding the Redemption out of the small bay within which Marseilles was situated. Ever since they had left port - and even before - Youji had stationed himself next to the young captain, seemingly more anxious than the redhead to raise anchor when Ran had sent word out for his men to return to the ship. Once the last of his crew had boarded though, the captain was more than happy to set sail, easily succumbing to his own anxiousness.

He was so close to finding Ken again ... he just knew it.

"You were the one who told me where to go," Ran threw back at this blond companion. "If we don't catch them, you're partially at fault here too."

Youji made a 'tsk'-ing sound and threw back his head arrogantly, golden hair, tied with a leather thong at his nape, swinging indignantly at the movement. "Some captain," he mumbled.

The redhead's eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from letting go of the rudder wheel in his hands and strangling the blonde. "Exactly! I'm the captain, and therefore, my orders and decisions are to be accepted without argument," he replied in a dangerously dulcet tone, fury barely leashed in by his ingrained discipline. "So don't you even dare question if I know what I'm doing or where I'm going."

The taller man didn't respond, instead, opting to ignore the young captain's subdued outburst and concentrate on the breathtaking seascape they were sailing into. The burning orange globe of the setting sun hung low in the sky, its brilliance slowly ceding dominance to the velvet cloak of night. Taking in a deep breath of the clear Mediterranean air, Youji looked like he had just rediscovered something about himself as the glimmering scene reflected off his fathomless green eyes.

Ran smiled inwardly at the reaction and stared out into the horizon as well. No matter how often he witnessed it, no matter how often he was awed by the sheer magnificence of this wonder beyond mortal touch, he never tired of it. 

A constant phenomenon in an inconstant world, he thought. It was something that he could always look forward to without fail.

So captivated was Ran in the moment that he failed to notice the ship sailing off his port bow until the artificial thunder of cannon fire ripped through the air. The sound was soon followed by the telltale splash of missed shots in the water just off of the Redemption's hull.

Instantly, his crew was running around in preparation for the sudden call to battle, men shouting and scrambling to get to their stations in hopes retaliation. Ran heard Youji curse vehemently beside him, but he knew he had to remain calm amidst the chaos if he was to lead his men through this crisis.

"Captain!" Kit's ample body came running up the few steps that led to the quarterdeck, breaths wheezing quickly and eyes shining brightly at the excitement of the upcoming battle. "The men are at their posts. Should we return fire?"

Eyes squinting against the dying sun, Ran glanced briefly over at the ship that had fired at them from out of nowhere and for no apparent reason, barely able to make out the other vessel's outline. By the size of the thing, it seemed almost as compact - and therefore, as fast - as the Redemption. But whose ship was it and why was she firing at him? He returned his gaze back to Kit, who looked ready to sprint and start the battle once he gave the word.

"No," Ran said with finality. "Don't return fire, Kit. We're too close to shore."

"Captain?"

"We don't have the time to waste on a fight right now," the redhead stated plainly.

"What are you talking about?" Youji's angry shout broke the understated tenseness between the three men. "Someone just fired at you and you're not going to do anything? What kind of captain - ?"

"Kit, how far away is the other ship?" Ran asked as he looked calculatingly at the distant vessel once more.

The first mate was startled by the odd question. "Not ... not very far, Captain. But why do you ask?"

Instead of answering, a small satisfied smile graced the redhead's lips, an expression that had the two other men wide-eyed and uneasy. 

Youji's attention shifted from Ran to the other ship, and then back to Ran again. Suddenly, he realized what the violet-eyed captain had in mind. "Oh no, you're not planning to ... this is insane! Crazy!"

Kit watched the two younger men with puzzlement, not understanding what apparently was obvious between his captain and the newcomer.

"Kit, tell the men to leave their battle stations," Ran commanded rationally. "And to take up their normal posts. Quickly, before they reload."

The older man's brow wrinkled in confusion but a lifetime of serving under the Fielding family had taught him not to question a superior's orders. "A-aye, Captain," he said and swiftly ambled off to perform his duty.

"You know this is a huge gamble, don't you?" the blonde asked once they were alone again.

The redhead's soft chuckle was not the answer Youji expected. "I never took myself to be much of a gambling man."

The older of the two had to smile at that. "You could have fooled me." 

They stood calmly for a little longer as the Redemption's crew found their way back to their posts. 

When Ran decided that they were ready, he turned to his blond companion. "Would you like to do the honours?"

"If I must," the older man replied and made his way over to the rail that separated the quarterdeck from the lower decks. Looking over the sailors who had grudgingly returned to their stations, he shouted as loudly as he could. "Hoist all the sails full, men! We're going to need all the speed we can get. Your lunatic of a captain wants to ram the other ship!"

There was some talk that floated between the crew but no public outcry against their captain's order manifested, thereby demonstrating to the blonde the loyalty and blind faith these men had in the young leader.

Ran watched with an impartial eye as Youji walked back to stand beside him. "I never took you to be such an eloquent man," the redhead said with a hint of mockery.

Youji shrugged dismissively. "I hope you know what you're doing."

The young captain's attention returned to his ship, his mind quickly calculating the slight course adjustment he would have to make. But as he did so, he said, "You'll have to learn that one rule aboard this ship, if you want to survive, is to trust her captain."

Youji threw him an amused look but chose not to comment; instead, he braced himself for the inevitable increase in velocity and the probable impact that was to come.

Ran braced himself as well, violet gaze trained on the path he had planned to take, and hands holding steady at his wheel. He felt the light sea breeze begin to pick up, quickly becoming a strong wind as the Redemption cut through the relatively calm waves.

Deep crimson strands of hair tickled his forehead and flew across his eyes as the distance between the two vessels lessened, but the minor distraction was dismissed when the details of the other ship became clearer: the body was compact, her design divided into the three decks with one main mast and two smaller ones. If the Redemption had been modeled after a Spanish galleon rather than a British naval ship, then she would've looked like the vessel he was about to intercept. Both were small and both were built for maneuverability, which meant that the outcome of this little confrontation would be based on the skill of the captains.

Ran could hear his heartbeat accelerating to a degree where all sound could not penetrate the deep thumping in his ears as the enemy neared. He sensed the rhythmic motion of his own ship beneath his feet, telling him that her entire essence was his to command, and a feeling of unreality slipped over him. This was what being captain meant this was a primal power that surged through him ... the knowledge and the certainty that ultimately, he was the one in control of his surroundings, and of his life.

The next few moments passed by in a blur of shapes and light. Ran watched his hull close in on the other ship's bow, his whole crew braced for impact. He even managed to make out the detailing of the Roman centurion figurehead on the other vessel but at the last second, the opposing ship veered off, her hull managing to graze the Redemption's port side. And yet, as the sickening crunch of refined wood scratched against refined wood, Ran ignored the damage being inflicted upon his ship and searched the enemy's decks for the captain. It didn't take long for him to find the man.

Crawford stood tall on his quarterdeck, eyes shining and expression amused as if commending the redhead for such an audacious move. Being as close as the two ships could physically get without compromising their hulls, Ran even saw the dark-haired man nod slightly in acknowledgement of his own momentary defeat, silently letting the redheaded captain know that he may have won this match but the game was far from over.

And as swiftly as the two vessels clashed, they were just as swift to part. The rough grinding sound suddenly ended, and Ran found that he needed all his focus to steady the Redemption after the contact. But now, he was clear to leave the bay, the course free of Crawford for the time being, and he felt somewhat relieved by the fact.

"I don't believe we made it through that intact," Youji said incredulously by his side, slowly taking in deep breaths to reassure himself that he was still alive, and oblivious to the brief exchange that Ran had been a part of. "You are one lucky bastard."

Even as the blonde spoke, Ran's eyes drifted back to the vessel they had just passed and the captain at her helm.

'No, the game was far from over,' he thought, remembering the challenging look on Crawford's face. But this was a game he refused to lose.

(***)

_Myklos Island, 150km South of Crete  
Two days later ..._

Ken drank in the fresh air like a starving man would consume a feast, the warm clean oceanside atmosphere filling his lungs like the nectar of the gods. Aside from the brief respite he'd gotten back in Marseilles, he'd been cooped up in the hold of that ship for almost two weeks and every fibre of his being yearned to be saturated with air that wasn't stale, and light that wasn't artificial.

Back when he'd been a slave, two weeks locked in the hold of a ship hadn't seemed like such torture, but apparently, he'd been cruelly spoiled these past few months because the prospect of being confined back in that prison again was enough to make him want to run.

Yet, he was not in there now, and that was what counted, he thought to himself as he led the procession of him, Omi, and Schuldich off the rowboat that had transported them from the ship onto the pristine beaches of an island he'd never seen before. What lay before him looked like a tropical island paradise where the clear blue skies melded with the wildly lush greenery that sat beyond the pure white sand. And as he trudged through the cool water and onto the shore, he felt as if he had stepped across a great divide from the real world into some fictional, but beautiful, Elysium.

"Stop right there!"

The commanding shout from the sailor-turned-guard froze Ken on the spot. He pivoted around to watch the burly man stride up to him and ensure that the three prisoners would not proceed any further, cutlass at the ready should one of them disobey. Omi and Schuldich both watched the man with a seething hatred; the former glaring through lethal cerulean eyes while the redhead openly displayed his distaste of the situation with his entire face. Ken stood, expression impassive, and reminded himself that this was not any different from the countless times he'd been forced onto the slave auction blocks. He'd learned then that detachment from the proceedings would serve him in good stead rather than openly showing his emotions. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way, but it was one he had learned well.

After a few minutes of waiting, a shout originating from the second rowboat reaching the shore caught the filed prisoners' interest. In unison, the three of them turned their heads to watch another group of sailors and a darkly attired figure approach them after hopping off the small boat, the latter's posture straight and movements sure, acting as if everything in his surroundings was under his control and answered only to him. 

Nikolai.

Ken's fists clenched unconsciously at seeing the man. He would never have guessed that his benefactor back at Greenwich would turn out to be his captor. He must have been blind and stupid to not see the malicious intentions behind the man's deceivingly helpful gesture and to have accepted the freely given assistance. Everything came at a price, especially something as pivotal and grand as gaining entrance into the Queen of England's favourite residence.

"Well, it seems that you have all made it through the journey rather nicely," the man said when he caught up to them. His immaculate pointed beard framed falsely smiling lips as his dark gaze assessed each of his captives. Moving to stand before Ken, Nikolai leaned forward and closely examined the brunette. He reached out with soft fingers to gently grab the younger man's chin and turned the head back and forth as if looking for imperfections.

It took all of Ken's willpower and discipline to not knock the offending hand away from his face, pride and self-respect protesting at being inspected like an animal. But the glinting swords of the surrounding guards held his impulsiveness in check. He could take this ... he had been through this so many times in the past and knew that as long as he remained compliant, he would be fine.

"Beautiful, simply beautiful," Nikolai concluded with a nod, satisfied with the brief examination. "I knew the moment I saw you back at Greenwich that you were exactly what I wanted."

Ken didn't respond, eyes focused straight ahead but unseeing.

Moving on, the dark-haired captor looked at his other acquisitions and sighed. "Now, here we have a pleasant surprise. I had two others in mind but I suppose you two will do just as well." As he did with Ken, Nikolai placed his fingers under Omi's chin and inspected the blonde's face from different angles.

Turning his head and watching his younger friend, Ken saw angry blue fire flare in the boy's eyes. 

'Don't react, Omi. Please don't do anything ... ' Ken said mentally, silently willing the blonde to hear his warning. He knew Omi was furious at not receiving another chance to escape, but he also knew that now was not the time for action.

He wasn't aware that he'd been holding his breath in worry for the boy until Nikolai finished looking and moved on to Schuldich. Only then did he breathe out, secretly commending Omi for maintaining his self-control. He understood that such restraint must have been difficult for a person as carefree and as lively as the blonde.

Schuldich, however, was a whole different scenario altogether. Ken observed with morbid curiosity as Nikolai went to examine the redhead and was slapped away for his actions. Crawford's crewman glared dangerously at their captor, the deadly intent clear for all to see. The guards closest to the defiant man moved to interfere with Schuldich's aggression - or punish him, more likely - but were stopped by Nikolai's upraised hand.

Looking at the redhead with an indulgent smirk, the dark-haired man roughly grabbed Schuldich around the throat and pulled him close enough to whisper something into the captured man's ear. Ken couldn't make out what Nikolai said to the long haired prisoner, but the widening of green eyes and stiffening of the redhead's posture indicated that it wasn't anything good.

Pleased with the sudden submissiveness, Nikolai finally let Schuldich go and stood back to give his captives one last appraising look. Smiling, he said, "I am very happy with you three. I imagine that you will all fit in quite well here." Then, eyes traveling to the redhead, he continued. "Even you. Once those bruises disappear, I think you will be a wonderful addition."

Ken could see Schuldich fight to remain unresponsive, knuckles white and lips pursed at the effort. He did not know what Nikolai had planned for them or what roles they would play on this - or what Ken assumed to be Nikolai's - island, but by the wicked gleam in their captor's dark eyes, it was something far from pleasant.

With a subtle hand gesture from dark-haired man, the armed guards began herding the three prisoners into the dense foliage not too far from the beach, Nikolai following leisurely at the rear. Ken tried to keep track of the twists and turns they took as they walked their way through the lush flora, but soon, every tree and every bush looked the same and all he could do was try to keep up with the leading guard. He fervently hoped that Omi was remembering their route better than he was, in case the boy got it into his head to attempt an escape.

After what felt like an endless trek through the trees, they finally made it out of the forest ... and into one of the most impressive sights Ken had ever seen. Nestled within the wilderness they had just walked through was one of the largest manor house the brunette had come across, an insignificant - but beautifully built - intrusion of man in the heart of Mother Nature's glory. The estate was a wonder to behold, its numerous windows and arched entrance contrasting nicely with the bricks and alabaster from which the structure was comprised. The whole building was symmetrical in design, a reflection of the architectural trend popular in Italy, while the Doric columns added a hint of classicism to the picture and guarded the front door like tall forbidding sentinels.

"Take them down to their quarters," Ken heard Nikolai say, and was not surprised to see the sailors quickly move to obey.

Before he could admire the edifice any further, they were led toward the large entrance by four guards, and ushered through the ornate hallways of the place. Ken did not have much of an opportunity to soak in the inside of the building as they were swiftly pushed along toward their destination, but what glimpses of the crafted marble statues and fine oil canvases he caught told him that the interior of the residence was just as impressive as the exterior. After descending a dark stairway, they came up to a plain but sturdy looking oak door, the only one on what appeared to be a level of the building below the surface. Taking a moment to retrieve a set of keys, the lead guard unlocked the entrance and signaled for the three captives to proceed.

Seeing no other option, Ken did as instructed, as did Omi and Schuldich. No sooner had they stepped into the room than the solid door banged closed behind them and the lock click shortly thereafter. Omi and Schuldich made sounds of protest and turned around to test the sturdiness of the door, but Ken knew that it would be a fruitless experiment. Instead, he scanned the room, taking in the grey walls and simple rectangular shape. Seven beds, some occupied and some not, lined opposing sides of the room, and to his relief, two windows approximately a hand span in height were situated on each of those walls close to the ceiling. At least it wouldn't feel too much like a prison this time ... not like the hold of that ship.

"It won't do you any good," a serious, but soft, voice said, probably intending to inform the two newcomers trying to open the door of their futile actions.

The three new arrivals searched for the origin. To his right, Ken noticed a diminutive figure sitting on the second bed, his mop of dark brown hair and wide, blue eyes making him look too young to speak with such seriousness.

"And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?" Schuldich asked angrily, the fury he'd been holding in all this time beginning to escape.

The small brunette shrugged and turned his gaze to Ken. "Claim a bed that isn't taken," he instructed simply. "There are only five of us here at the moment so there is quite a bit of room. Make yourselves comfortable until they come for you."

The bland way in which the boy spoke reminded Ken of a child reading from a treatise for a tutor, but still, he could not think of anything else to do save what the boy had recommended.

Before moving to look for a bed that didn't have any clothes thrown on it or a body occupying it, he nodded his gratitude toward the stranger. "Thank you ... "

"Nagi," the boy replied. "Just call me Nagi."

(***)

"East."

"No, south. We go south."

Flashing amethyst locked with resolute green as Ran and Youji stared off in a contest of wills, both standing on opposite sides of the redhead's desk as if poised for battle. Kit watched the two grown men from the doorway with an exasperated expression, feeling like a condescending parent forced to settle a dispute between two squabbling children. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that his captain and the blonde were acting like siblings fighting over the last piece of sweetmeat.

"Listen, Youji. There's nothing in the south. If we head east, we can reach the Ottoman in three days."

"My lord captain," the taller man drawled mockingly. "There is indeed something if we head south. We can reach Egypt in two days if we change course now."

Another impasse.

Kit rolled his eyes, and cleared his throat audibly as he walked into Ran's cabin.

"What?" Both arguing men turned their heads and asked in unison.

"Captain, why don't you settle this in a more reasonable manner?" the first mate suggested rationally.

The redhead straightened and raised an eyebrow, years of sailing with the older man having taught him that Kit's advice was always worth considering. "What would that be, Kit?"

The first mate approached the desk, his habitually pleasant, non-assuming smile in place. "Do you have a coin, Captain?"

Youji made a choking sound at the question, but Ran obediently reached into his desk and tossed his old friend a Spanish dollar. Kit caught the coin easily and held up the thing for both men to inspect.

"If the side with King Phillip's likeliness faces up after I throw this, we follow the captain's orders. If it lands with the Pillars of Hercules facing upwards, we do as Youji says. Agreed?"

Reluctantly, the younger men nodded, both deferring to the older - and therefore, wiser - man in the room.

Without further ado, Kit tossed the coin into the air, and all watched eagerly as the gold flipped end over end, hit the end of the desk, bounced onto the floor, and rolled in between two floorboards where it stood upright, perpendicular to the ground.

Youji looked at the coin disbelievingly and then at Kit. Ran stood by quietly, watching Kit with a smile tugging at his lips.

"So what does that mean?" the blonde asked.

Kit smiled the smile that his captain refused to show. "It means, my boy, that I get to choose the next destination." Eyes quickly scanning the map on the desk, the first mate decisively pointed to a spot on the chart. "Greece. I say we head for Greece ... "

(***)

They had taken Omi.

Ken stared at the locked door intently from his recently chosen bed, worry for his young friend making it almost impossible for him to sit still. He and Omi had just barely settled into two adjacent unoccupied spaces when two armed guards came in and ordered the blonde out as Ken had looked on helplessly. Even Schuldich observed the event beneath hooded eyes from his bed beside Nagi, in all likelihood, curious as to whether his fate would be similar to the boy's.

Unable to sit still any longer, Ken rose and started pacing the strip of floor between his and Omi's beds.

"Don't worry. He's still too new for anything real. You all have to be trained first, which is probably what they're doing with him right now."

The brunette stopped and stared across the room, eyes briefly taking in Schuldich's sleeping form and coming to rest on Nagi. "Training?"

The pale boy nodded. "Yes. The master likely doesn't have any patrons here."

"Patrons?"

"Patrons. You know, spectators. Rich men who watch, and sometimes, buy."

Ken swallowed hard as the meaning of the younger brunette's words began to make sense. "Buy? You mean us?"

Nagi nodded again, scrutinizing the older man as if he was a simpleton for not knowing such a well-established fact. "There used to be girls here too, but he learned that boys fetch a higher price."

By 'he', Ken knew to whom the boy referred. For all his business-like appearance, Nikolai did not look the part of a decadent flesh dealer. Still, he was furious at himself for not seeing through the mask sooner. Then, a question stuck him. "Nagi, how long have you been here?"

The boy shrugged, shoulders rising and then quickly returning to their sloped, defeated angle. "My whole life," he said simply. "I think my mother was brought here as one of the first."

Compassion filled Ken at the younger boy's admission, and yet, the way that Nagi spoke of his heritage did not boast any self-pity or sadness; he merely referred to it as if it were an accepted fact, something that had always been and always will be. Suddenly, he wondered if the boy was better off life this: Ken had once known freedom and he was constantly haunted by that fact, but Nagi ... well, he could not long for something he had never known.

Before he could dwell on the boy's situation any further, the door swung open again and the armed guards that had escorted Omi out earlier marched threateningly toward Ken. Instinct screamed for him to run, to dart around these men and flee as far and as fast as he could, but his rational inner voice kept him immobile. Even if he did evade the men, he would still have to find his way through the forest and then seek transportation off the island. Thus, when one of the guards pressed the flat of his sword against Ken's back, the brunette easily complied and followed them obediently from the room.

Once Ken made it to the top of the stairs, he lost all sense of direction as he was rapidly led through a maze of decorated rooms and posh corridors, eventually coming to a stop in a simply furnished bedchamber. The room appeared ordinary enough at first glance: a large bed, a small table, and an open window, all sparsely spread in a moderately sized space. Yet, even with these mundane features, Ken immediately noticed two things that didn't belong.

The first was what looked like a waterfall of gossamer suspended from the ceiling in the far corner, the sheer fabric partially obscuring several cushioned chairs placed within its depths. Although there was no one seated in the makeshift alcove, Ken was reminded of Nagi's words about patrons who liked to 'watch'. The thought was enough to send a foreboding shiver down his spine.

The second was the darkly dressed man standing casually by the bed, arms crossed and expression bored until he became aware of Ken's presence.

"Nikolai," Ken growled, repressed anger and venom oozing forth in that one name.

"Now, now, my dear boy," the man said, placating. "Just do as I say, and you will be fine."

"I sincerely doubt that."

Nikolai smiled coldly and nodded to Ken's armed escort. At that silent signal, the young brunette found himself being roughly pushed onto the bed, the soft feather mattress absorbing the weight of his body and lessening the impact. From his new position, Ken watched apprehensively as his dark-haired captor walked to retrieve the lone silver wine goblet that had been sitting on the small table. As Nikolai returned to stand by the bed once more, the younger brunette swung his legs up and rolled over the mattress to the other side and got as far from the man as possible. He had no idea what his captor intended to do with him, but he would not give in without a fight.

"I need you to drink," Nikolai said, the politeness of his voice at odds with the slowly growing anger in his eyes.

"Go to hell," Ken threw back, and stood up, beginning to move away from the proffered cup.

The older man sighed and gave another nod to the guards. "Have it your way then, my boy."

The men moved so fast that Ken barely had time to react. He managed to land a hard kick to the stomach of one of the guards before the other wrestled him to the ground, his arms cruelly yanked above his head by the burly man while the recently hurt one scrambled to hold down his legs. He bucked and twisted but found no signs of weakness in his human restraints, eventually releasing a frustrated sound at his helpless predicament.

"Let me go, you bloody bastards!" he shouted and shook his head violently in hopes of loosening the guards' hold.

Nikolai came around the bed and into Ken's field of view, goblet still in hand.

"Not likely, my dear boy," the man said calmly as he knelt down by the younger man's supine body.

Ken glared daggers at his tormentor, brown eyes flashing with pure poison. "You sick son of a bitch," he ground out, resorting to a verbal assault since the avenue of the physical was impossible for him. "I bet your whore of a mother was - "

Nikolai's fingers pinching his nose, and the cold metal of the goblet pressing against his lips cut off the rest of his words. For lack of air, Ken was forced to eventually open his mouth, only to have the contents of the glass poured down his throat. He sputtered and choked, body convulsing, as the sweet tasting wine dribbled down into his mouth as well as his chin and neck, but Nikolai kept the fluid flowing until the goblet was completely emptied.

Ken coughed violently before the guards finally let him go, their duty apparently done. He glared at his smirking captor and wiped his arm across his mouth to clear away some of the sticky liquid that remained around his lips. That done, he rolled over and attempted to stand, only to find his legs giving out the moment he put any weight on them. Flopping ingloriously onto the ground, he turned an accusing gaze toward Nikolai, but the man seemed to be phasing in and out of focus before his eyes.

"What ... did ... you ... do ... to ... " Even speech had become difficult for him, his words sounding slurred as if he'd drank twenty cups of wine instead of one.

"Nothing, my boy," the older man said. "Relax now."

Ken wanted to protest, to fight some more, but his body refused to obey, as did his mind. He couldn't give up now not yet, not when he didn't know what would happen to him if he let consciousness slip away. But nothing worked: his limbs weren't his to control any longer and his brain seemed to have stopped functioning.

Distantly, he felt himself being lifted and placed in a sea of softness, which reminded him of the time he had fallen asleep on Ran's feather mattress. Back then, he had felt so warm ... and so safe.

Ran ...

Even now, the man's presence lingered within his thoughts.

Then, he became vaguely aware of Nikolai hovering above him, assessing his semi-lucidness with a smile of satisfaction. But after that, everything slowly faded to darkness as blessed unconsciousness welcomed him into its comforting embrace.

  
End Chapter 11  



	12. Second Encounters

_Historical, Geographical and General Notes: _

_Valerian and Bois bandé _- Extracts of the plant Valerian (Latin name: _Valeriana officinalis_) have their main use in herbal medicine as sedatives. However, as noted in a German herbal book from the fourteenth century, it was also claimed to be an aphrodisiac. Bois bandé is also an aphrodisiac that comes from the bark of a tree called _Roupala montana_. To get the finished product, a strip of the bark is soaked for a week in rum. The rum is then filtered to obtain the extract of bois bandé. I have no idea what effect combining these two drugs would have since my botany and chemistry are rather pathetic (i.e. I took one botany course in my university career and couldn't run away fast enough) but for the purpose of this story, let's just say that it's not enough to kill Ken.

_Candia, Crete (in Prefecture Heraklio)_ - Now known as the city of Iraklion, Candia has a long and eventful history. During the Minoan and Roman times, this city on the northern coast of Crete was said to have been a port for the legendary city of Knossos. In 824 A.D., it was captured by Saracens and renamed _El Khandak_ (The Moat). It wasn't until the fourteenth century that the city was sold to Venice for 1000 pieces of silver, and under Venetian rule, it was renamed Candia. Many artists and scholars found refuge here, especially after the fall of Constantinople in 1453. The walls that Ran refers to in the story were built around the city for protection by the Venetians starting in 1462 (designed by the famous Venetian military engineer Michele Sammicheli) and were not completed until over a hundred years later (about a couple of decades before this fic). These walls were approximately 60m thick, totaled about 4.5km in perimeter, and boasted 12 bastions and forts all around. It also came in handy when the Turks laid siege to the city in the mid-seventeenth century, a siege that became one of the longest in history, lasting for 21 years and showing how effective these walls were. When the Turks finally took the city, it was renamed Iraklion, the name we know it by today. In 1971, the administrative center of Crete was moved here.

_Dia_ - Dia is a small island off the coast of Iraklion. For those familiar with the Greek myth of Theseus, Ariadne, the Minotaur, and the Labyrinth: when Theseus abandoned Ariadne after she saved him from the Labyrinth, some say he was so anxious to be rid of her that he left her on Dia, within sight of her father's domain.

_Clothing and Dress of the Gentleman_ - The clothes that Ran wears at the end of this chapter is typical of what wealthy gentlemen wore during the time period of the story. Although I'm not too sure of what exactly was 'in style' in 1596, I gave him the generic aristocrat's look with a Venetian flair since he was in Venetian territory. But all the pieces required of a gentleman are there: a doublet, a jerkin, hose, a cloak, and a hat. Well, I omitted the hat; I didn't want to cover Ran's beautiful hair! ^_^

(***)  
  
_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 12: Second Encounters_

_Myklos Island   
1596_

White.

That was the first coherent thought that entered Ken's head the moment he opened his eyes. The ceiling was unusually white - colourless, bland, uniform - so unlike the nailed boards of a ship's hold. He blinked absently, foggy mind slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer at sea. As the heavy mantle of sleep started to lift, his senses began to rouse from their slumber, allowing him to become more consciously aware of his surroundings.

His back lay upon a haven of softness, and it didn't take all his faculties to conclude that he was comfortably ensconced in a bed. Furthermore, whatever room he was in, the window was open. The cool morning air from the outside world danced teasingly along his exposed skin, its refreshing feel intermingled with an encroaching heat that threatened to overtake its icier counterpart as time wore on. In the distance, he heard the faint echoes of the ocean, waves upon waves of an endless oasis, slapping and crawling its way onto a drier and harsher reality.

Ken let out a muffled groan and brought an arm up to brush a few errant strands of dark hair from his face, only to be rewarded with the stubbornness of several locks that refused to stay put, and the protests of an aching head and body that screamed bloody murder at the slight action. And it was then that the events of the previous night came crashing through his muddled mind: Nikolai, the wine ... the blackness.

Panic was an unwelcome fiend at the best of times, but at that moment, Ken didn't know what else to feel as he tried to recall what exactly had happened to him after the wine had been forced down his throat.

Nothing. He couldn't remember anything but an anxiety-arousing void, a temporal slate in his memory that was as blank as the ceiling above him.

Intending to rise and better assess his situation, he suddenly found his left shoulder and arm inconveniently immobilized by the warm pliant body nestled against his side.

Body? In bed? With him?

His spine stiffened of its own accord, and his eyes widened in complete wakefulness at the realization that he wasn't alone in bed ... and that he was completely unclothed. Nervously, he peeked over at his companion, the constant pressure against his body enough to tell him that this unknown person was still asleep, entirely oblivious to his growing panic. Golden blond hair peeked back, the fine strands innocently reflecting the early rays of the rising sun that managed to sneak through the window.

Bloody, bloody hell.

Pushing his head back into his pillow, Ken closed his eyes and swallowed, wishing for all he was worth that he could remember exactly how he had gotten here, and why, of all people, he'd ended up in bed with another man. Resigned, he reached over and shook the insensate body beside him.

"Omi," he called in a hoarse voice. "Omi, wake up."

The blonde groaned, and batted blindly at Ken's intrusive arm.

"Omi!" he said a little more loudly, the natural edge now beginning to reassert itself in his voice.

"W-what?" the sleepy boy grumbled and shifted off the brunette to get into a more comfortable position.

"Get up." Now free of the blonde's confining weight, Ken pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around. The simple features of the bedchamber he'd been forced into the night before greeted him: the opened window, the simple table, the gossamer waterfall, and even the detestable wine goblet. "We've got to find a way out of here," he stated plainly as he looked around for his clothes.

It wasn't until he had slid to the side of the bed that he felt Omi bolt upright on the mattress, his actions abrupt and jarring as if finally realizing the repercussions of his current predicament. However, his quick motion knocked the covers off his body and caused a vehement curse to escape from the angelic-looking boy's mouth.

"Christ, we're naked!" the blonde practically shouted as he tried to re-gather the blanket to cover himself.

Ken turned and looked over at his friend. Had the situation been less serious, he might have actually laughed at the faint blush that crept over the younger boy's cheeks. "Get dressed," the brunette said softly instead, hoping his soothing tone would help Omi reclaim his usual optimistic nature. "Our clothes are all over the floor."

So saying, Ken pushed off the bed and kneeled down to sort through the scattered articles on the ground, trying the best he could to ignore the small aches of his body and his own nakedness.

This was no different than the times he had been paraded before potential slave traders, he reminded himself. In fact, the circumstances here were far better than when he'd been inspected like quality horseflesh: at least it was only Omi in the room and not a crowd of bidders vying for him like he was a possession to be had.

"Do you remember what happened to you last night?" Omi asked quietly as he made his way over to join Ken in finding his clothes.

The brunette shook his head. "No. You?"

The younger boy shook his head solemnly as well. "I remember being taken to a room," the blonde said as he pulled on his pair of pants. "And that man was there. You know, the one from the ship, dressed all in black ..."

"Nikolai," Ken supplied.

"Yes, him. He forced me to drink something, and after that I ... I don't remember."

Ken began to struggle into his own clothes, standing up to pull on his pants, all the while, looking down at the bobbing blonde head of his companion. Blond ... silken ... strands that looked like burnished gold in candlelight ... gliding over smooth sun-kissed skin. Breathing ... heaving breaths that tickled that sensitive skin as possessive lips made their mark ... 

Oh God.

"What? What is it, Ken?"

He wasn't aware that he'd said anything until he heard Omi speak. Blue, inquisitive eyes glanced up at him, soaking in his frozen body and surprised expression.

"I ... I think I might know what happened last night." Just the mere thought of it caused an unwanted weight to settle heavily inside his gut.

What had he done? Why him? Why Omi?

But he hadn't been in his right mind, he reasoned. And neither had Omi. They couldn't blame themselves for what had happened. He couldn't even remember any specific details, only brief fuzzy flashes of what might have occurred. Yet, still ...

"Ken?" Omi stood, now fully clothed, and watched him expectantly, hoping his older friend would have an explanation for the blank in his memory.

Something must have been lingering on Ken's face, something haunted, something condemning, because without having the brunette say a word, Omi gasped quietly and took an unconscious step backwards, eyes wide with shock as if he were seeing the same images that had flittered through the older man's mind.

"No," the blonde said disbelievingly. "We didn't ... "

"This stays between the two of us," Ken commanded, his sudden order sounding irrefutable. "We don't say anything to anyone. Whatever happened between us stays between us. Understand, Omi?"

The seriousness and the practicality of the suggestion were not lost on the young blonde; he nodded obediently.

Satisfied, Ken went back to straightening his clothes, trying to remain as unperturbed as possible as he smoothed some of the wrinkles from his vest. From the corner of his eye, he saw Omi mimic his actions, he too attempting to put everything - remembered and unremembered - behind him.

Whatever they had done, it had not been them, Ken tried to convince himself. They had been played with, cruelly manipulated like pliant puppets with no wills of their own.

"Well, well, it looks like two of my newest acquisitions are finally up and about. I must say that you two have far surpassed my expectations."

So preoccupied had Ken been in coming to terms with his previous night's actions that he hadn't even heard Nikolai enter the room, his habitual guards in tow. Now, the man stood before Omi and him with sickeningly false cheer, his appearance as immaculate as always from his pointed beard to his expensive black hose. The young brunette fought the overwhelming urge to lunge at the man and squeeze his neck until no life remained. However, in deference to the two armed guards, he settled for clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

"You bloody bastard!" Omi yelled, unable to hold his tongue like his older companion. "What did you do to us last night?" The blonde would have met with considerable trouble had he followed through with his intention to attack their captor, but Ken's restraining hand on his shoulder proved enough to still him. Anger spurring on heavy breaths, Omi glared venomously at the black-haired man.

Nikolai chuckled at the boy's overreaction. "What did I do to you?" he asked rhetorically with an amused tone. "My dear boy, I didn't do anything to you. You should be asking what you did to each other. A little Valarian and Bois Bandé, and I discovered what a great investment I had made."

Bois Bandé. Ken vaguely remembered hearing about it. It was an aphrodisiac, which would explain why 

But he showed no outward response to the discovery, and with a subtle tightening of his fingers, he silently urged Omi to follow suit. They couldn't act yet, not here, not now, not when everything was to their disadvantage.

Seeing no outright protests from the younger men, Nikolai promptly signaled for the guards to come forward. "Take these two back down," he ordered. "We'll see their true worth later ... perhaps even tomorrow night."

Ken schooled his face to remain impassive at that last remark, but inside, he felt a dreaded sense of foreboding begin to form. Tomorrow night? What would be happening tomorrow night?

"Let's go."

The guard's terse words jarred Ken from his ponderings. Compliantly, he and Omi walked out of the room, their captor's enforcers following in their wake as they slowly made their way back to their locked quarters. Frankly, Ken was more than happy to leave the room behind; the sooner he got away from the chamber, the sooner he could forget about any unpleasantness that might have occurred within its walls. 

(***)

Exploitation. Manipulation. Domination.

Those were the words that had shaped and guided Schuldich for as long as he could remember. In the world where he had grown up, the strong survived, and the weak ... the weak never lived long, or if they did, it was a pathetic existence riddled with degradation and ridicule. That was why he had become the strongest of them all. That was why he had the blood of so many on his hands. That was why he had survived.

He'd clawed and crawled his way out of the pitiful mire of his youth and escaped into the world beyond, a world that kicked a man when he was down, a world that stole the bread from one's mouth even after months of starvation, but he hadn't minded it. That life had been infinitely better than the one he'd left behind. And when he'd found his way onto a ship called the Valiant, and met its dark-haired captain, his eyes had opened to another reality well beyond his scope of comprehension. True, the whole atmosphere aboard the Valiant reminded him of his origins, especially with Crawford at her helm, but he had also been exposed to a certain freedom and anonymity that he found completely foreign and almost ... almost refreshing.

And now, he was trapped again, locked into a new prison away from the world he had slowly began to warm to, deprived of what he'd come to view as his own niche in that reality. Nikolai's whispered words on the beach still rang clear in his head, words that reminded him too much of the threats that had been thrown his way when he was a child.

_/ "Give it up, my boy. You are mine now. Do you really think you'll see the outside world again?" /_

The outside world ... when had he come to view it as such? When had the outside world become such an enviable prize in his mind's eye? Three years ago, he wouldn't have cared less where he ended up as long as it was away from _there_, but now, everything seemed so much more complicated, like a sailor's knot that became more intricate and tighter as time passed. He was convinced that he didn't really _want_ to live again in that 'outside world' - because he never _wanted_ anything - but he knew without a doubt that he couldn't live here. It was too much like home, too constricting, too confining for his own good, and he had promised himself a long time ago that he would never go back to that again.

A shuffling sound from his left caused him to look over at the kid who had spoken to Ken when they'd first arrived. Giving up all pretense of sleep, Schuldich pushed himself up on his newly claimed bed and watched Nagi flip through some worn pages of an old book. His healing ribs protested weakly at the movement, but he ignored the slight discomfort and focused his attention on the young boy instead.

The brunette had never seen the world beyond these walls, he reminded himself, or so he'd heard when he'd been pretending to sleep the day before.

"You're one lucky bastard," the redhead observed.

Nagi stopped his perusing and looked questioningly at him.

Schuldich smirked. "Not knowing the outside world, not knowing freedom ... you're better off that way."

The young brunette didn't say anything, giving the other man a blank expression before turning back to his book.

"Of course, if you find the right people to serve, it's not that bad," Schuldich continued conversationally, his smirk becoming somewhat nostalgic at the thought of his first meeting with Crawford. "No, not bad at all ... "

"What's it like? The outside world, I mean."

The boy's voice was quiet, but the innocence that saturated the question made it louder than it truly was.

The redhead chuckled lightly at the words though, but as he thought about it, an inexplicable seriousness stole over him. "Different," he said solemnly. "More different than you'll ever know."

Emotionless blue eyes took in his reply as if he'd just been given the answer to a mathematical question, the reaction as passive and malleable as the boy himself.

It was an unnerving response to say the least. In fact, Nagi's whole personality - or rather, 'non-personality' - was unnerving. For once, Schuldich didn't have to try and read what hidden motivations belied another's words and actions, because in the case of the brunette, there was no motivation.

Just then, their prison door opened with a muted squeak, only to close almost immediately after Ken and Omi had entered. Schuldich watched the two walk silently toward their beds with a guarded gaze, secretly taking in their mussed appearance as they moved. There was a high probability that whatever they had been subjected to would soon be in his near future once his bruises healed. And how he hated that thought. He hated this powerlessness that had been forced upon him, just as he hated himself now for making that decision to please Crawford by getting himself captured to find Ken.

He had to get out of here. He didn't care how, but he had to get out of here before the demons of his past caught up with him and revealed to him that he might actually have a weakness after all.

(***)

_Candia, Crete (Heraklio Prefecture)_

The sound of hammers meeting wood floated to Ran's ears like notes of sweet music in the wind. He leaned tiredly against the rail of his ship and cast a supervisory eye over his men as they made the necessary repairs to the Redemption. His brief run-in with Crawford back in Marseilles, and a sudden storm he'd met with the day before had done more damage to the vessel than he'd originally thought. So much so that he had been forced to change course and dock in the port of Candia for repairs.

Ran tightened his grip on the wooden rail beneath his fingers, letting the subtle manifestation of his frustration show at the inconvenience. He loved his ship, and was grateful that she had survived so much with him at her helm, but at that moment, he wished that she wouldn't delay him like this. So eager was he to continue with his search that he'd sent out Kit and Youji, along with a few men, the moment they had docked to see if they could gather any information. He would've liked to send out more of his crew but the need to get the Redemption's repairs completed had forced him to forgo that luxury. And so far, of the men he'd sent out, not one had returned yet.

His gaze danced idly over the scenery of the port, hoping the familiar sun-drenched picture of converging land, earth, and air would calm him down. Candia, he'd learned from his school days, was a city steeped in history, and although nothing of the ancient Minoan and Roman civilizations could be visibly seen, he knew he probably stood at the very port that had led to the legendary city of Knossos. To his left, one of Candia's recently built twelve bastions stood, guarding diligently against invasion by both land and sea from its vantage point on the edge of the small bay. Its mere presence denoted how much this place had changed over time, its current occupation by the Venetians clearly seen in the protective wall that surrounded the city and the magnificent architecture that was reminiscent of its Italian cousins.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Ran stiffened and turned at the new voice, only to relax when he realized that it was Youji who had approached him. Returning his violet gaze to the tiny bay, he nodded and asked, "Did you find anything?"

The blonde moved to stand beside him and sighed dejectedly. "No, nothing. Either no one knows anything and we're following the wrong trail, or the locals are being extremely tightlipped."

The young captain closed his eyes briefly and fought the hopelessness that was threatening to spread through his body. He felt Youji's ephemeral green gaze linger on him for a moment before focusing out into the Mediterranean.

"You know that we're standing on a fairly mythical spot, don't you?" Youji asked, and Ran somehow knew the man was trying to lighten their thoughts in his own roundabout way. At the captain's silence, the blonde continued and gestured in the general direction they were facing. "Just over there is Dia, the island where some say Theseus abandoned Ariadne after she rescued him from the Labyrinth."

"The Labyrinth? Wasn't that where the girl's father had trapped the Minotaur?"

Youji smiled at Ran's observation. "Trust the aristocratic captain to be well-versed in his Greek mythology. You're right, of course, about the father. In fact, some believe the Labyrinth and the Minotaur were situated in this area." An amused gleam danced in the blonde's eyes. "Fitting, isn't it?"

The corner of Ran's mouth quirked up at the taller man's odd sense of humour. "Fitting indeed."

'Now if it were only that simple,' the redhead added as a silent afterthought.

"Captain!"

Both Ran and Youji turned around at the excited shout, only to be greeted by the first mate's flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

"What is it, Kit?" Ran asked, pulse accelerating at the news that he knew his old friend had.

The portly seaman ambled his way over to the two younger men, huffing his breaths at the overexertion he'd just inflicted on his old body. The young captain tried to remain patient as Kit regained enough of his composure to speak, but he had to restrain himself from shaking the news out of the man.

"I was just at a local inn," the first mate began when he finally calmed his breaths. "I managed to speak with the innkeeper, a beautiful black-haired widow by the name of Olga ... "

"I can see why you're so excited," Youji cut in, his typical amused smirk on his face.

Ran threw the blonde an annoyed look and prompted Kit to continue.

"Wonderful woman, that Olga. She's been running that inn by herself since her husband died over eight years ago." And then, seeing the impatience creeping up on the captain's face, he decided to get to the point of his story. "She was telling me that every so often, she gets quite a few nobles from throughout Europe staying at her inn, all supposedly attending a secret meeting of some sort, privileged to those with enough money. Now, because she prides herself on running a discreet establishment, she doesn't question them, but over the years, she has learned quite a bit by just listening. Apparently, these noblemen are taken to an island somewhere south of here and enjoy some rather debauched entertainment."

Youji chuckled at the story. "So what do the wicked habits of these aristocrats have to do with us? Truthfully, it sounds like fun."

Kit turned serious eyes on the blonde, and then on Ran. "The ship that takes them to this island is called the Minotaur."

That statement sobered Youji up fairly quickly. Good humour dissipating, he glanced over at the redhead, who seemed to be deep in thought. After a moment of contemplative silence, Ran finally spoke.

"When does the next trip out to this island occur?"

"Tomorrow night," Kit replied succinctly. "There is a group gathering at Olga's inn right now."

"I'll go," Youji volunteered the moment Kit finished speaking.

Two pairs of surprised eyes turned to the newest member of the Redemption, one of the owners surprised at how quickly the blonde's entire demeanor had changed, and the other forming an immediate objection.

"No," Ran said with finality. Youji opened his mouth to argue but the redhead didn't give him a chance to speak. "I'm going. I want you and Kit to follow at a discreet distance with the Redemption when they set sail."

"Captain ..." Kit's weak protest was halted by the intense determination shining in the younger man's violet orbs. And apparently, Youji saw it too because after a moment of hesitation, he pursed his lips into a grim line and nodded.

Ran was relieved at their lack of resistance. To be honest, he didn't know how to justify his decision to them. As captain of the ship, he was needed here, but he knew he could not risk losing this opportunity to find Ken. And the only way to ensure that was to throw himself headlong into the whole situation. It was not the most rational thing to do. It was not, by far, something the calculating captain of the Redemption would do. But it seemed that it was something that he, Ran Fielding, wanted ... no, needed ... to do.

(***)

"We have to find a way out of here."

Omi's words pulled Ken from his introspective reverie and drew his attention toward the blonde on the next bed. Since they had returned from their unwanted 'excursion', the brunette had fallen into his own little world of conjecture and deduction. He had said that he would forget about last night, and even told himself repeatedly that nothing had happened, but his thoughts somehow drifted back to the missing pieces in his memory. As hard as he fought it, he couldn't help but try to remember what had occurred between Omi and him, driven on by a sense of morbid curiosity and masochistic fascination. He didn't know if the blonde was facing the same dilemma, but seeing Omi at that moment, he had a feeling that his young friend was trying to put it behind him as well - a fact for which he was thankful since it helped dispel some of the awkwardness between the two of them.

"What do you say, Ken? Do you think we can get out of here?"

Sitting up, the brunette turned to face the younger boy, serious brown eyes leveling with optimistic blue. "I don't know, Omi. Do you have a plan?"

The blonde's elfin features took on a somber cast, as if every fiber of his being was deep in concentration. "I think I do, but I can't do it alone. I need everyone's help."

Intrigued, Ken didn't say anything, allowing the boy to dictate his new idea; if anything, he was starting to respect and admire his friend as an ingenious strategist.

"On the trips down here, I remember passing an armoury. The door wasn't completely open so all I could see were some pistols and barrels of gunpowder. I didn't get a good look at the outside structure of this house when we were brought here, but the room is at the end of a long hallway, which probably puts it in one of the wings away from the main chambers. If we can get to that room, and arm ourselves, we can find a way out of this place."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" As much as Ken believed in Omi's abilities, he was a realist, and he refused to get drawn into a scheme that would dash away his hopes again. He could only take so much.

"The best time would be when the guards come down to feed us. There's usually only two of them, one who comes in, and one who remains at the door. That would give us the perfect chance to escape. But for this to work, I need everyone's help," Omi explained rationally.

"No."

The single word from across the room prompted Ken and Omi to look over at the diminutive brunette who'd spoken.

"Why not, Nagi?" the blond strategist entreated. "If we all work together, we can get out of here. Don't you want to leave this place?"

The smaller boy stared back, expressionless, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Omi's latter question. But Ken sensed that the boy didn't know how to answer, the bland expression masking a child who had grown up not knowing the value of choice and free will.

"I'm in."

The strong, arrogant voice of Schuldich overshadowed Nagi's quiet refusal, and it was enough to draw the attention of all the other boys in the room. The redhead slid off his bed and swaggered over to join the planning session, the action followed curiously by the other occupants. Slowly, one by one, their fellow captives made their way over to Omi's bed as well, until only Nagi remained absent from the gathered group.

Ken watched the other dark-haired boy sadly, wishing that Nagi would bend to the will of his peers for his own good, but he could only pray the boy would follow the others when the plan was set into motion. Then, Omi started to talk, and Ken found himself drawn into the blonde's optimism and enthusiasm, that irrepressible feeling of hope flaring in his chest despite his better judgment.

"We'll plan it for tomorrow night ..."

(***)

_One day later ..._

It was times like this that Ran was grateful he'd left the life of the aristocrat far behind him. He tugged hatefully at his deep crimson doublet, and tried to settle himself a little more comfortably into his chair as he watched the common room of the Golden Lyre, the inn that Kit had said would be the rendezvous point for the 'trip'. Against his better judgment, he had sent Kit out to purchase the clothes of the noble he would play, and now, he was regrettably paying for that decision.

His attire had a decidedly Venetian influence, his doublet boasting the pointed waist and narrowed skirt that was at the height of fashion. His sleeves were tightly fitted over his muscle toned limbs, buttoned up on the back of his arm near his cuff and set off perfectly by his cut-to-fit sleeveless black jerkin. His similarly coloured upper hose was more in the Venetian style of the form-hugging knee breeches that hooked on the inside of the knees and pulled over his dark stockings. Kit had brought back an ostentatious set of garters for the said stockings, but Ran had taken one look at them and quickly threw them overboard, opting instead to wear a plain buckled set he'd had in his chest. To top off his torturous ensemble, Kit had force him into a pair of shiny black high-heeled shoes, cut with a tongue and designed with side-lachets fastened over the instep.

Appearing to fluff the lace on his cuffs, Ran inwardly longed for his loose white shirt, familiar breeches, and comfortable boots, but he knew he cut a dashing figure among the aristocratic set that lingered in the room, and that was what mattered. To these men, and hopefully, to their would-be host, he would look like a bored nobleman on the prowl for a night of debauchery and depravity.

"I say, this ought to be a most entertaining night."

A portly, middle-aged gentleman seated himself across the table from Ran and smiled eagerly. The young captain glared back at the corpulent, balding man and said nothing, giving the stranger a look with a withering violet gaze sharp enough to cut diamonds and had sent many men under his command scurrying. The rotund nobleman sputtered at the deadly look, and rose to leave with as much dignity as he could muster.

Alone again, Ran carefully arranged his Spanish cloak over his left shoulder and leaned back in his chair. Because the expensive cloth had to be fastened under his right shoulder in the back to leave his sword arm free, he didn't want to risk taking it off and go through the trouble of tying the thing himself without Kit's help. Besides, according to Olga, Kit's innkeeper, the wait shouldn't be too long now.

The thought had no sooner entered the young captain's mind than a well-dressed man of average height walked into the room with an entourage of what looked to be five burly sailors.

"Gentlemen," the newcomer greeted everyone with a false smile Ran had seen too often on fast-talking businessmen. "For those who do not know me, my name is Nikolai Markhonen, and I have the honour of being your host tonight." With his introduction, the man made an elegant leg and then stood to gesture toward the exit. "If you would all follow me, I shall show you to my ship and take you to tonight's fine entertainment."

There was a general murmur of anticipation and excitement in the room for those new to the experience, but Ran noted a few older gentlemen who watched Nikolai with practiced, jaded eyes.

"Of course," the darkly clad man added with a smile. "I shall require that each of you pay a fee prior to departure. Otherwise, I will be forced to deny you passage."

'Nothing more than a glorified merchant,' Ran thought as he followed the actions of the others in the room, and took out the pouch of gold he'd remembered to bring.

Nikolai was pleased by the quick acquiescence of his potential patrons and kept his fake smile in place. At his signal, all the noblemen in the room began to file out toward the exit, pausing only briefly to hand the waiting man the requisite gold. Ran stood, and walked calmly to the converging group, his heels clicking rhythmically on the clean wooden floor. Handing over a portion of his money to the readily accepting man, he then followed the other aristocrats into the late afternoon air, anticipation slowly building at the possibility of seeing Ken once again.

(***)

They hadn't expected this.

Ken watched helplessly and complied unwillingly as two guards pushed him and another boy into a small room on the main floor. The boy, whose name was Pierre Laval as Ken had learned when they'd been discussing the escape plan the day before, acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His strawberry-blond head bent in a posture of submission, Pierre remained unresisting as one of the guards locked what looked like delicate gold shackles around his wrists. Once finished, the guard turned to Ken and chained his wrists too before the brunette had a chance to react.

Damn, how were they going to get out of this?

When the guards had first come into their locked chamber to take Pierre and him away, Omi had jumped high enough to nearly hit the ceiling with surprise. Their plan had been scheduled for later that night, and he had not foreseen Ken's absence from the upcoming escape. Standing to follow the strawberry-blonde and the guards out of the room, Ken had given his friend a reassuring nod.

"Do what you have to. I'll catch up with you," he'd whispered before departing. The blonde had nodded almost imperceptibly, but Ken still remembered the uncertainty that had shone in Omi's clear blue eyes.

"This way," the guard said roughly, dragging Ken's thoughts back to the present.

Obediently, the two captives followed, Pierre submissively and Ken reluctantly. He tugged gently at his gold chains, the delicate look of them leading him to think that they were more for aesthetic purposes than practical. But to his disappointment, the metal held strong, not giving any measure as he tried to pull his arms apart. 

Damnit, why now of all times? Why did he have to be chained up now?

Before Ken knew it, he was led into the room he'd been brought to two nights ago, Pierre walking listlessly at his side as if he knew what awaited him and had done this a thousand times before. The room was still the same as it had been the last time he was here - immaculate, simple, and unadorned - only tonight, something was different with the curtained off area. He tried to hide his shocked reaction as best he could when he realized what was so different: there were people there, probing, watchful eyes that bore down on him through the sheer gossamer, slowly peeling away at each layer of his carefully guarded self as he stood by helplessly.

He swallowed hard to suppress the rising bile in his throat and fought to keep the humiliation he felt from showing on his face.

'Breathe,' he told himself. 'Breathe. Let them stare all they want. You'll survive this. You always have.'

"Gentlemen, I present to you the first specimen for the night." Nikolai's voice cut clear and crisp through the room as he approached, his eyes directed toward the gossamer curtain as if presenting a work of art to interested patrons. "This is my newest acquisition so for those of you who have been here before, I assure you that he will add some variety to an otherwise mundane night."

That said, Nikolai proceeded to slide Ken's vest off his shoulders until the garment rested around his waist, held there by his restrained arms and thereby revealing to interested eyes his lightly sculpted upper torso. From behind the sheer fabric, the brunette heard a few whispers and some rustling, but not enough to reveal what was going on behind the cloth barrier.

Nikolai smiled emptily. Reaching out, the black-haired man clasped a hand around his captive's bicep and squeezed gently on the muscle, sliding exploratory fingers over smooth, taut skin. Reacting more from reflex than forethought, Ken shook off the touch roughly and jerked away, only to have Nikolai react just as roughly and grab him by the throat. Caught by surprise, Ken couldn't defend himself as his captor gently tightened his grip around his neck, and slowly choked the air from his lungs. Letting out a strangled cough, he fell to his knees as the room began to swim, and yet, his hateful gaze never left his torturer's bland face.

Satisfied with the small punishment, Nikolai finally released his hold and looked back at the curtained off area with his business-like mask. "Strong and spirited, this one is, but quite agile and - "

"How much for him?"

All noise stopped in the room at those words, and the moment of shocked silence that followed was the longest Ken had ever endured. Even Nikolai paused at the unexpected question. Then, quickly gathering his wits, the host cleared his throat and vainly searched through the obscuring curtain for the man who'd spoken.

"My deepest apologies, but he is not for sale just yet. I have - "

"How much for him?" The question was asked again, tone forceful and undeterred.

And Ken was kneeling frozen from his spot on the floor, eyes glued unseeing on an area of reddish tint behind the gossamer, all his senses abuzz as he tried to come to terms with the thoughts that were running through his head.

That voice ... commanding, confident ... a voice he'd heard countless times in his dreams ... a voice he'd never expected to hear again.

Ran.

  
End Chapter 12  



	13. Escape

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 13: Escape _

_Myklos Island  
1596_

Ran had always thought himself a rational man. The truth was, he had to be: to efficiently captain the Redemption and to make the name he had so painstakingly earned required a clarity of thought and an absence of emotion that was unsurpassed by all. In fact, he had rather prided himself on the organized and calculated life he had created, quietly reaping its rewards and unconsciously basking in the adulation: and yet, all that couldn't stop the impulsive streak that had shot through him the moment that bastard tried to hurt Ken ... his Ken ... right before his eyes.

The minutes prior, when Ken had first been brought into the room, had seemed like gossamer-blurred images from a dream, the brunette moving with a natural grace that only emphasized the ethereal tableau through the sheer fabric before the redhead. And it was then in that instance that the young captain felt his whole body freeze up, his hands gripping the arms of his cushioned chair so tightly, he was certain he would have imprints on his palms for days to come.

That was Ken.

Here.

In the very same chamber.

Ran couldn't find the right words to describe his carefully hidden emotions at the realization: Surprised? Elated? Relieved?

No, not even close.

It was a sensation akin to those that Italian poet, Petrarch, would have felt if he had ever breached the wall of chivalric love with his adored Laura ... it was a feeling a heroic knight would experience if he successfully slew the dragon for his lady fair ... simply indescribable.

Still, nothing showed on his blank face as he had patiently watched Nikolai parade Ken before the company of devouring eyes among which he was seated, not the excitement that had begun to build within his chest, not the anticipation at having the former slave on board his ship again, not even the pride he felt when Ken had kept his posture proud and unbeaten.

But that was Ken - strong, resilient, ... unbreakable.

And then, when Nikolai had brought the brunette to his knees, Ran had to exercise an inhuman amount of self-restraint to avoid leaping up and strangling the black-haired man with his bare hands.

"How much for him?" he'd asked, words business-like and emotionless as the tenseness of his jaw compensated for the detachment.

His head had begun to pound when Nikolai had made to refuse. Didn't the man know that he was not the type to be denied?

"How much for him?" he had repeated.

"Let me repeat, Sir," the dark-haired man said a little more assertively, blatantly searching for the source of the voice behind the curtains. "He is not for sale. Not yet, at least."

Ran slowly breathed out a frustrated breath as his deadly violet gaze pierced through the sheer white gauze. "Any amount you want in any currency you desire ... Sir." The redhead ignored the surprised snickers around him as he added the last word derisively, surprised that he had let so much venom leak into his voice all of a sudden.

He watched Nikolai falter slightly at the generous offer in the avaricious eyes that sparkled unnaturally at the prospect of the promised gold. Money was indeed the key to almost every human heart, be it stolen of honourably earned. He could understand why Youji had had so much confidence when he'd tried to buy the Redemption's services.

Youji.

The young captain's flaring temper was assuaged somewhat at the thought of Youji and the ship's crew finding this place. It shouldn't be long before Kit and the others attacked this prison full force, so confident was he in his men's abilities at following Nikolai's trail. Then, he could finally grab Ken and get off this godforsaken island. But first, he had to stall for time ... try anything to keep that conniving bastard's hands off the brunette.

"Your offer, Sir, is more than generous," Nikolai finally said, diplomatically appeasing smile artificially plastered on his face. "However, as I have yet to truly test this dear boy, I wish him to remain in my possession until I determine his true worth. If you are still interested in him next month, I will be more than happy to entertain any offer you propose."

Ran's eyes narrowed dangerously at the depraved entrepreneur's grating words, his clenched fingers digging deeper into the velvet-lined arms of the chair. "I may not be so generous then," the redhead ground out.

"Then I am certain that I will find another use for him," Nikolai answered concisely, but politely enough so as to not ruffle any of the other potential buyers in the room.

The young captain seethed. He hated the two-faced attitude of society embodied in the dark-haired man beyond the gauze. He hated the tethering restrictions that prevented him from killing that man outright. But most of all, he hated the plain helplessness that had been forced upon him as Ken was dragged around like a prized showpiece by that bastard. The very act of restraint was fast becoming as arduous as keeping the weight of Atlas's burden upon his shoulders and he wasn't sure how much longer he could maintain his present self-control. If he weren't so grossly outnumbered, he'd 

Youji and Kit had better get here ... and quick.

The delicate rattle of chains once again brought the redhead's attention back to the young brunette being pulled to his feet. Ken's wide eyes, stunned expression and stiff movements were indication enough that he'd recognized the voice behind the curtain. Of that, Ran was certain, and yet, he couldn't help but feel an inappropriate and inexplicable warmth spread through him at the chained man's easy recognition.

'Just a little longer, Ken,' the young captain said mentally to the brunette, silently encouraging the former slave even though he knew the other man couldn't hear a single word. 'Hold on just a little longer ... '

By now, Ken had regained some of his fiery composure and had started to twist away from Nikolai's strong grip as he was being pushed toward the large bed, the sleek muscles of his bared upper torso straining beneath sun-toned skin. Even when his captor motioned for help from one of the guards, the brunette refused to stop struggling, and through it all, a subdued sense of pride joined the plethora of other roiling emotions within Ran.

No matter what, Ken would never lose his spirit, and for that, the redhead was infinitely grateful.

However, he was not the only one to notice this: several admiring murmurs echoed softly around him and suddenly, the already strained captain had to contend with the urge to unsheathe his sword and gut every single man seated around him.

Where in bloody hell were Kit and Youji?

If he had to sit still for another second, he was certain he'd do something regrettable.

He didn't know if Fate had been listening to his quiet complaints and had a serendipitous hand in the ensuing events, but no sooner had the thought run its course through his head than the cacophony of a nearby explosion ripped through the room and the entire building. As if rehearsed, all occupants of the bedchamber grasped the nearest stable object for steadiness and looked around questioningly for the source of the unexpected delay in synchronized harmony.

His crew, Ran concluded with relief. It had to be his crew and it was about time. But why had they chosen such an unsubtle method of making their presence known?

A general unrest had begun to spread through the audience around him, leaving their gracious host to quickly make the appropriate amends. 

"Please remain seated, Gentlemen. I'm certain this is but a minor disruption."

If there was one thing admirable about the man, it was his remarkable ability to maintain a façade of calm in any situation - Ran had to give Nikolai that. Of course, the man could have been motivated by the loss of a considerable amount of money.

False, placating smile in place, Nikolai firmly shoved Ken onto the neatly made bed and promptly turned to his obscured patrons. "I assure you that I will personally see to the problem. Until then, I offer you the hospitality of my humble home."

After making a quick, elegant bow, the dark-haired man purposefully walked out of the room, his two guards in tow.

"I must say, this is unexpected, though definitely fortuitous," a thinly veiled lecherous voice said off to Ran's right. Hungry eyes devoured the scene through the hazy curtains, a scene that showed Ken attempting to stand and shrug his vest back on, despite the hindrance of his chains. A furtive glance told the redhead that it was none other than the rotund stranger from the inn who had made the comment.

Exercising even more of his overtaxed control, Ran forced himself to count to ten slowly, both to ensure that Nikolai would not return and to prevent himself from instigating unneeded bloodshed. And that last number couldn't have come soon enough. The moment he hit ten, he was out of his chair and striding across the room, gauze curtain easily forgotten as his heels clicked authoritatively on the rush-absent floor.

He ignored the shuffling of pampered, spoiled aristocrats behind him. He ignored the distant sounds of a commotion that was breaching the secure walls of this depraved haven. He even, for a fleeting moment, ignored the life-threatening situation and dangerous consequences in the world around him. All that mattered, all that he saw in that brief slip of time was Ken indomitable, spirited Ken whose wide, soulful brown eyes stared disbelievingly at him from a beautiful, astonished face.

The connection was there - intoxicating, consuming, inescapable - and Ran would have been ten times a fool for denying it.

But it was an impermanent escape from reality, as insubstantial as the elusive rainbow after a storm, and just as easily dispelled. The moment he grabbed Ken's arm and began to lead him from the room was the moment the weight of the world was placed back on his shoulders, but for some odd reason, the burden seemed more bearable now, especially when he could sense Ken's reassuring warmth beneath his hand. He never knew himself to be inclined toward the poetic, but with the brunette back at his side, he felt as if he could face anything and emerge triumphant.

Christ, it was good to have Ken back.

(***)

He was here.

Ran was truly here.

Like an apparition come to life, Ran had walked through those curtains, out of his dreams and into the physical world, and Ken still had a difficult time believing it. Only when the redhead had grabbed his arm did the surrealism of the situation begin to fade, the warm, comforting contact a reinforcement of the reality that was before him.

But how could this be real?

Yet Ken had seen and done enough in his life to not doubt what his instincts wanted, and in that instance, they screamed for him to follow.

And so he did.

He followed without protest, legs moving, one in front of the other as the two of them navigated the twists and turns that comprised the prison into which he'd been recently thrown. And yet, Ken didn't feel any uncertainty; he didn't know how, he didn't know when, but somewhere along the way, he'd developed a blind trust in the man before him, and he was confident that Ran would lead the way out of this place.

In that blinding moment when their eyes had met back in the room, something had been forged - a feeling, a sense, a bond that had come into creation when they'd first met, that had been tempered and molded by their separation - and it was simply indescribable. It had felt as if nothing else existed in the world ... no past, no present, and no future - only them. But it hadn't lasted long and as much as Ken would've loved to remain removed from reality, he knew he would've had to eventually face it.

There was just too much to worry about, most important of which was Omi's planned escape. That explosion they had heard could've marked the beginning of the young blonde's flight. And Pierre, the boy who'd been brought into the room with him how could he have forgotten?

Shaking off the residual amazement that had muddled his mind, he stopped walking and waited to get Ran's attention. The redhead halted abruptly when he realized that Ken's arm was no longer in his grasp and turned to see what had happened to his companion.

A million words danced along Ken's tongue as those violet gems looked inquiringly at him, but for some reason, nothing came out of his mouth. So much to say, so much he wanted to tell and yet, not a sound passed his lips.

Why?

Surely, the arrogant captain couldn't have been responsible for this temporary vocal paralysis.

"You there! Stop!"

The shout from behind Ken was alarming enough to cause the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

Damn!

They'd been discovered.

He felt Ran tense beside him and heard the telltale hiss of scraping metal as the redhead pulled his sword from the sheath. His own heart began to thump heavily in his ears as he turned and readied his muscles for the encounter, standing prepared to fight alongside the stubborn captain even as the said man tried to push him back. He may have been weaponless, but that was far from saying he was defenseless, and he refused to be deterred from letting the redhead fight alone.

Three burly, heavyset men charged toward them, the sight of Ken's chains enough to tell the tale of a possible escape in their eyes. Almost immediately, Ran lunged to meet them, his attack as aggressive as his opponents' but somehow more calculated and graceful. In a blur of red and black finery, the young captain engaged two of the guards with a poetic finesse that never ceased to take Ken's breath away. The echo of steel upon steel was enough to indicate that both sides had dove into the foray full force, niceties and protocol aside: this wasn't the practiced, structured fights that held respectable gentlemen in check. This was one in which all rules of engagement didn't apply, one that was perhaps more suited to a dockside brawl than a field of honour. And despite Ken's initial worry, Ran adjusted to the level appropriately, meeting each underhanded and backstabbing attack with an equally deadly one of his own. 

As much as the captivated brunette would've loved to watch the redhead fight, he soon had his own opponent to contend with when the third guard slipped by his busy comrades and ran at him with cutlass raised. His whole body in a tensed crouch, the former slave met the blade with the only thing at his disposal - his chains. The jarring impact was great enough to clatter Ken's teeth as he raised his captured wrists to catch the weapon in a shower of sparks. Without hesitation, the young brunette wrapped his restraints around the momentarily stilled sword and yanked hard. The flat side of the blade dug painfully into his inner arm, but in ignoring the discomfort, he managed to effectively disarm his opponent and land a swift kick to the larger man's middle.

Before his attacker could recover from the hit, Ken quickly untangled the sword from his chains and went on the offensive. Easily dodging a planned right hook, he ducked and nimbly sidestepped around his opponent, quickly moving to stand behind the other man. In a motion more motivated by survival than forethought, he looped his arms around his enemy's neck, and pulled for all he was worth. The shackles around his wrists bit deep enough into his skin that bruises would be an inevitability, but it was nothing compared to the pain the strangling man must've been feeling. Stuttered gasps and weak gurgles could be heard from Ken's now blue-faced opponent, and despite how adamant the dying man was on trying to escape the metal-assisted hold, Ken refused to let go. He kept his chains pulled tight against the other man's vulnerable throat, slowly choking the life out of the body and stubbornly hanging onto his suffering enemy even when he felt his feet momentarily leave the ground at the struggles. Soon, the guard's resistance began to wane, the man falling to his knees - and taking Ken with him - as the sickeningly wheezy breath eased into silence.

Only when the body finally stilled did the smaller brunette disengage his chains from the dead man's neck and stand. Remembering Ran, he turned just in time to watch the redhead pull his blade from his remaining opponent's chest, the other already lying in a pool of blood a short distance away. As the last of their attackers fell, the captain turned to find his companion.

Piercing amethyst once again clashed with fathomless brown as their heavy breathing filled the air, the frozen moment tainted by the sweat-soaked euphoria that often lingered after a life threatening fight.

Words ... words were irrelevant now. 

Perhaps words had always been irrelevant between the two of them. Only the prideful denials and long practiced masks in which they had found so much comfort in the past had prevented them from realizing that fact.

It was now, staring into that consuming, violet fire, that Ken began to understand the person who stood before him ... not the guilt-ridden aristocrat, not the untouchable captain, but just a simple, flawed man ... just Ran.

And watching the redhead, he knew that the other man was receiving a similar glimpse into his very own core: nothing but a lost soul underneath all those layers, running from and searching for everything he once was.

Dare he let this continue? Dare he let Ran in and expose everything he was to another?

It would be so easy to let it happen, to share his past with another, to alleviate the weight he had been carrying around these recent years.

But when had things ever been easy for him? When had choosing the easier path proven fruitful for him?

Not wanting to dwell on the answer, he finally closed his eyes and looked away, breaking the contact that had almost cracked his mask.

No. Not now. Not yet.

He wasn't ready.

Resolved in his decision, he reopened his eyes and looked guardedly over at Ran. The redhead looked back with a veiled understanding and appeared resigned to Ken's silent answer, content to wait for the right time.

The brunette felt somewhat lighter at the older man's reaction, and was more than happy to comply when Ran gave an almost imperceptible nod to resume their escape.

(***)

The young blonde was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Schuldich watched Omi with a jaundiced eye as the boy led the others down the corridor to the so-called armory that he'd seen earlier. The surety in the blonde's actions and the intelligence in those blue eyes were enough to convince all the followers of the young man's competence, which was why Schuldich had obligingly assisted with the escape plan; that, and the fact that he refused to spend the rest of his days trapped in a prison not of his own making. He'd lived like that for a vast majority of his life and he'd promised himself that he'd sooner see hell before he lived like that again.

"This way," Omi's muted whisper floated through the air.

The redhead assessed the impromptu leader curiously: the boy was a paradox if there ever was one. He may have appeared small and innocent with those angelic features but when the two guards had entered the room with their food earlier that evening, he'd been given a demonstration as to how dangerous such 'innocence' could be. While Schuldich had attacked the trailing guard, Omi had taken the other. And if he'd been any slower in dispatching his opponent, he would never have had the chance to witness the lethalness of the compact blonde. Omi fought with a ferocity that reminded Schuldich of his time on the streets of Marseilles, his style neither elegant nor refined, but efficient and deadly. With just his bare hands, the young boy had managed to defeat a man almost twice his size, ending the foray with a resounding snap that the redhead surmised was the sound of the guard's neck breaking.

Indeed, the young blonde was a force to be reckoned with, and in passing, he wondered where the boy had learned to fight like that.

A tentative flutter on his left arm brought Schuldich's attention back to the present and the blue-eyed brunette at his side. In the chaotic moments after the fight, he had hastily dragged Nagi out of the room with the rest of the group, and although the younger boy displayed no outright resistance, the redhead was certain that if he hadn't been there, the boy would have simply stayed put while the others made their escape.

As if seeking assurance, Nagi's hand occasionally grabbed onto Schuldich's arm, and in an act of uncharacteristic benevolence, he didn't brush the boy away. In all likelihood, this was the small brunette's first sojourn out of that room without an escort, undoubtedly a daunting concept in Nagi's eyes.

"It's not so bad, Kid," Schuldich murmured, slowly beginning to feel uncomfortable at the growing dependence the boy was developing. "When we get out of here, I'll introduce you to a man I know. Crawford's not the best captain to work for but he's certainly not the worst. I think you'll like it on his ship."

Nagi didn't say anything at his words. He merely nodded and kept close to the taller man.

"Schuldich, over here."

Again, Omi's whisper drew the redhead's attention back to the situation at hand. 

They had arrived.

Through the evening darkness, Schuldich could see the heavy door that led into the armory, its intricately carved patterns a deceptive counterpoint to what laid within. Once they got a hold of some weapons, the whole game would change, and the redhead relished the prospect of the upcoming turn of events. Without further ado, he grasped the door handle and turned, expecting to meet with locked resistance but was duly surprised when the entrance opened without any protest.

Omi must have noticed his puzzled look. "The need for locks becomes moot when you live alone on an island," the blonde stated plainly.

After throwing the younger man an annoyed look for pointing out such an obvious fact, Schuldich cautiously walked into the room, eyes quickly soaking in the various implements scattered throughout the darkened space. A small window situated off to his left provided enough moonlight to discern a majority of the weapons in the moderately-sized chamber: a variety of pistols and swords decorated the walls while the heavier, medieval looking instruments and the numerous barrels of gunpowder lay innocently on the floor.

Typical.

"You, grab the gunpowder and move it over there." Schuldich had barely managed to scan the room before he heard Omi dole out whispered orders to the other boys. Within seconds, their fellow captives were scurrying about, arranging and grabbing things as per the commanding blonde's wishes.

Schuldich left them to it as he wandered into the far right corner of the room, hoping to find a weapon for himself. And it wasn't long before he found it.

The sword sat ensconced in a pale pool of moonlight, looking like it belonged more on a aristocrat's waist than on a wall, its gold-filigreed hilt boasting fine workmanship with a design that could only have originated from Italy. Although it carried no jewels or any other expensive ornaments, the beautifully crafted insets and engravings of curlicues and crosses in the precious metal were enough to compensate for any lack thereof. Reverently, Schuldich took the weapon off the wall and tested the weight in his hands. The thing was well balanced and the blade well honed, proof that the sword may have been intended for aesthetic purposes as well as functionality.

Simply incredible.

"Look out!"

So caught up in the mystique of his new acquisition was he that he was entirely oblivious of the chaos happening behind him until it was too late. While he'd been admiring the captivating blade, one of the other captives had accidentally dropped a gunpowder barrel he'd been moving, thereby spilling the dangerous substance throughout the middle of the room. And despite Omi's shouted warning, another boy following the previous one had stepped unknowingly into the black mess.

That was when everything occurred in a blur of actions before Schuldich's eyes. The moment the boy had stepped into the spilled powder, angry shouts could be heard from just beyond the doorway.

Guards.

And many of them.

It wasn't much, but the sound of the new arrivals was enough to startle the boy on the gunpowder to drop what he'd been carrying - a load of swords and daggers.

The explosion happened before anyone could prepare for it. Schuldich had lunged as fast as he could against the wall to avoid the brunt of the blast, and yet, even so, he felt the abrasive force of the whole thing as its intense, searing heat slapped against his exposed skin.

At first, he was too stunned to move from his position on the ground, but when he realized that he was still alive and breathing, he pushed himself to his feet. The sight with which he was confronted made him wish he hadn't.

Omi and the others had wasted no time in recovering or in engaging the several guards who had discovered them, the young blonde using everything and anything at his disposal to combat his opponents. However, even the younger man's quick reaction to the attackers couldn't erase the acrid smell and gruesome sight of the charred body lying amid the flames that had yet to die flames that separated him from the others and the two exits.

Damnit!

He had been so close! So close to getting out of here and back to where he so desperately wanted to be.

Wanted?

No, that couldn't be right. He didn't want to be there ... did he?

But what other word was there for this driving need inside him? How else could he explain it?

"Schuldich?"

He heard the small voice from the other side of the flaming wall - Nagi.

He saw the younger boy's impassive face, no visible emotion on those delicate features, and yet, those wide blue eyes conveyed an indecisiveness that only heightened the small brunette's air of tainted innocence.

Had he ever looked that innocent once upon a time?

Probably not.

It was then, staring at Nagi's heat distorted face halfway across the room that he realized there was no way he could cross the fiery barrier - not without getting severely burned at least, and as much as he enjoyed inflicting pain, he was not one for suffering it.

Verdant eyes softened in resignation. 

'Go,' he mouthed to the young brunette who stood unmoving at the silent command. If the fire spread to the other barrels of gunpowder ... 

"Go, you bloody idiot!" the redhead then shouted through the curtain of fire, only to end up coughing violently as the smoke eagerly entered his lungs.

A lifetime of receiving such aggressively issued orders manifested as the boy finally began to move mechanically to join Omi near the exit. Schuldich watched with mixed emotions as the spirited blonde finished off the last of the guards. The self-appointed leader of their escape looked over at Schuldich then and quickly assessed the position in which the redhead was trapped.

The older man didn't need to see the emotion in Omi's eyes to know that there was no way for him to escape. The constant heat that danced along his skin was enough of a reminder of the fact. Not one to dwell on the twisted jokes that Fate threw in his path, the redhead looked away from the young blonde's sad blue eyes, hoping the boy would understand his message and leave.

Omi did. 

With a small nod of deference, he led the others away.

Schuldich stood silently as the captives quickly made their way out of the room, leaving him alone with only the dancing flames for company. Strange, but he always thought that he'd die by a more glorious method. Then again, when had life ever met with his exalted expectations? With the exception of Crawford, nothing had happened during his existence that he was particularly proud of.

Crawford.

It was a pity he couldn't see that man again. There was so much still that needed to be done ... so much still that he wanted to explore.

There was that word again - want.

So, after everything, he finally knew 'want', finally understood the one flaw that had brought so many to their knees. He guessed it was a good thing that he wouldn't be around long enough to have that one weakness exploited. After all, wasn't that what had brought him to this point in time, the want to stay aboard the Valiant and the want to please Crawford in order to do so?

He was such a goddamned fool.

Not long after Omi's departure, a flurry of footsteps brought his attention back to the entrance and the newly arrived men who stood there.

Nikolai.

Lips forming a comfortable smirk, Schuldich almost laughed at the incredulous expression on the dark-haired man's face as he took in the fire and its perilously close proximity to the barrels of gunpowder. And then their eyes met across the blazing inferno, Nikolai's flashing anger and fury while Schuldich's brimmed with amusement and superiority.

True, he would never see the outside world again, the redhead said silently with his arrogant expression. But, by God, he would not live in Nikolai's contrived one either.

(***)

If it hadn't been for the ear-splitting explosion, Youji was sure they would've been lost in the maze of trees. As it was, he, Kit, and a select few of the Redemption's crew were now struggling through the thick jungle in the dead of night with nothing to guide them save the light of a waning moon. At least now, they had a general idea of which direction they were to head.

He and Kit had managed to discreetly follow the Minotaur earlier that evening, but when the enemy ship had slipped into a small cove to drop off its passengers, the Redemption had had to steer off elsewhere to avoid detection. Hence, here they were, trying without much success to find Ran's trail once again.

"We should be there soon," Youji heard Kit mutter breathlessly, the long trek undoubtedly taking its toll on the older man. "The explosion didn't sound too far off."

Jade eyes glanced over at the shorter man. "Are you sure you can make it? Maybe you should stop to catch your breath first." 

The first mate looked slightly affronted at the comment. "I'll have you know, sir, that I was fighting battles ten times as exhausting as this before you were even born."

The older man's statement coaxed a quiet chuckle from the blonde.

"Besides," Kit added. "The captain is waiting for us. If - "

Youji's upraised hand silenced the rest of the sentence, causing everyone in the entourage to fall into alertness at the rustling sound the tall blonde had heard. By Youji's example, the rest of the men cautiously and quietly withdrew their weapons, all their senses strained and readied for whatever or whoever was approaching.

They didn't have to wait long. Within seconds, they were confronted by another group of what looked to be sailors, led by a tall, dark-haired man.

"You!" Kit hissed almost instantly.

Youji glanced back and forth between the first mate and the leader of the new arrivals. "You know him?"

The older man nodded, his hard gaze not leaving the stranger. "Crawford, wasn't it?"

The other man nodded with a small, empty smile. "I'm flattered that you still remember."

"How did you find us?" the first mate asked, his deadly tone having no effect on the question's recipient.

"Simple. I merely followed you. There's much to be said for the act of shadowing, isn't there?"

Already, Youji was developing a strong dislike for the man, whoever he was.

"And here your captain must've thought he had lost me back in Marseilles."

So it had been him!

Suddenly, Youji had a feeling that he'd gotten involved in something a little more complicated than what he had originally anticipated, and far be it for him to delve into the business of others.

"Look, just what exactly are you doing here?" he demanded, aware of the naïveté of his question, but still unable to quell his curiosity.

Crawford didn't get the chance to answer. The moment the inquiry was asked, more rustling in the trees around them prompted both crews to be on their guard. As the sounds neared, Youji mentally prepared himself for whatever would come through the bushes.

Yet no amount of readiness could have prepared him for what appeared: a small group of young, ragtag boys, wide-eyed and out-of-breath, all led by a familiar kid with a mop of honey-gold hair.

Omi.

To say that Youji was surprised would've only put it mildly, and to say that he was frozen, both in speech and body, would've been a gross understatement. He couldn't speak, couldn't move hell, he couldn't even think!

What was wrong with him? Had the separation addled his wits?

This was Omi, the kid who had constantly annoyed him since that fateful night back in Paris, the thorn in his backside that he'd been trying to remove for well over a year ... and the only person to ever see through the walls of lies he'd built around himself.

Surprised blue eventually gave way to a warm, friendly azure as recognition set into the younger blonde's face. "Funny meeting you here, old man," Omi quipped good-naturedly as he swaggered up to his taller friend.

Youji watched quietly as the boy approached and raised his sword-free arm to ... to what? Hold him? Hug him?

In the end, he settled for ruffling the young blonde's hair, his fingers soaking in the fine silken texture of each strand during the contact.

"I could say the same Kid," he returned gruffly.

Omi gave his friend a carefree smile at the easy exchange, but had Youji looked closer, he would've also caught a hint of disappointment in the boy's face at the lukewarm reunion.

"Youji, perhaps we should get going." Kit's interruption was just what the tall blonde needed to break the subtle spell that he'd fallen under with Omi's sudden appearance. 

"Yes," he agreed quickly and pulled away from the younger boy. "We should."

"Going? Where?" Omi looked, puzzled by the strangers around him.

As if in response to the question, another explosion, a hundred-fold more powerful than the first, ripped through the warm night air, sending all the men into low crouches to steady themselves. Once recovered, everyone turned to watch a breathtaking ball of flame illuminate the dark, velvet sky - a testament to the deceptive beauty and true destruction of the natural world.

"Ran!"

"Ken!"

Youji, Omi, Kit, and Crawford all unconsciously called out the names of their missing comrades at once, each unaware of who said which but it wasn't important now. All that mattered was determining whether the two had survived that hellish inferno.

(***)

His world was burning.

His world, his life, his whole universe was falling to the ground in one inglorious heap.

Nagi watched, transfixed, as the bright orange-yellow fire licked and ravaged the only home he had ever known. That boy, Omi, and the others they had come upon stared intriguingly with him, but they would never understand what they were witnessing.

It was his everything that was disintegrating before their eyes. He had nothing now, not even his own identity, which had been so deeply ingrained into that manor that was slowly being burned to the ground.

What was he supposed to do now?

He had nowhere to go, no direction to follow, and no one to trust.

Schuldich had said the outside world was different, but how different?

The very idea frightened him.

And Schuldich no one remembered that he was still back there too.

"Schuldich," he whispered as an addendum to the others' worried cries.

His voice seemed to have been drowned out in the fiery night, but he paid it no mind. He had spoken and heard the name of the man he'd known only briefly, and that was enough.

"Schuldich? You know him?"

The authoritative voice sparked a natural reflex in Nagi to stand straight and cast his eyes to the ground.

"Y-yes, sir," the boy stammered as one of the men from the group approached him.

"Where is he?"

Nagi hesitantly raised his eyes to take in the man who'd demanded the question. Ink black hair framed a hard, well-defined face and complemented the stern, green-gold eyes that stared down at him.

"H-he's back there, sir," the young brunette answered and glanced over at the fanning flames. "H-he was trapped and couldn't get out."

The other man didn't respond to his statement, and after an indeterminate period of time, Nagi found the courage to look up again at the tall stranger.

Like the moments prior, the dark-haired man was staring off in the direction of the blazing inferno, face impassive but somehow, to the brunette, his whole posture seemed less rigid than before.

"Crawford, we're going to search for survivors," a tall blonde yelled some distance away. "I don't know what your business is here, but at a time like this, I don't really care." And with that, a large group of men - Omi and the other captives included - started to move toward the burning manor.

Crawford.

_/ "When we get out of here, I'll introduce you to a man I know. Crawford's not the best captain to work for but he's certainly not the worst ..." /_

Schuldich's words still lingered in his head, a constant reminder of the fate-altering events tonight had brought.

So this was Crawford, the captain that the redhead had spoken of. Would he be a good man to follow?

The young brunette didn't have much time to decide: the said man was beginning to walk away, back toward the fire as the other group had done.

Before he knew it, Nagi's feet began to move of their own accord, unconsciously following the dark-haired man without any preamble.

He had decided.

(***)

They hadn't gotten too far from the building when the whole thing became a miniature version of hell. So great was the force of the explosion that Ken felt his whole body being thrown through the air and landing in a crumpled heap in some surrounding shrubbery.

He didn't move initially, his mind uncertain as to whether he was dead or alive, but slowly, as sensation upon painful sensation returned, he sat up and quickly looked around for Ran. He learned the meaning of true panic when his first cursory scan yielded nothing, but felt his heart rate return to normal when a familiar figure approached him from behind.

"Are you hurt?" the redheaded asked in a concerned voice as he offered a hand to help the sitting brunette up. 

Ken shook his head as he took the proffered hand and stood, wincing inwardly at the small aches in his muscles and joints, but assessing all of them as only minor discomforts. Compared to some injuries he'd had before, these were inconsequential.

Satisfied with his companion's answer, Ran gestured for them to continue. "We should keep going. The Redemption should be docked around this island somewhere."

"Somewhere? That sure narrows it down," Ken murmured jokingly as he began to move.

At his comment, a small, amused smile graced Ran's lips, an act that, in Ken's opinion, was as rare as catching a glimpse of the legendary phoenix itself.

He liked that expression on the redhead, and admired it all the more for its rarity. It was a shame that the captain never displayed it in public.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he put all his effort into following Ran, the feelings from his recent escape and the anticipation of sailing on board the Redemption again instilling him with the energy and motivation to move his legs faster and further. In short, he had never felt such a sense of freedom and happiness.

Freedom and happiness?

When had those words entered his vocabulary? Since when had Fate ever been so kind to him?

He had to be careful, or else he would only set himself up for a fall from which he might not survive.

It was a good thing that he had warned himself before he delved any further into his euphoria because the events that followed only served to emphasize his less-than-charmed life.

He followed Ran - trustingly, willingly, eagerly - and when they made it into a clearing, he had thought that they were close to leaving his prison behind. However, that was not the case; for when he looked around the small clearing, he realized that he and Ran had walked straight into a slightly singed Nikolai and a group of his guards ... as well as their trained pistols.

  
End Chapter 13  



	14. How the Mighty Fall

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 14: How the Mighty Fall_

The wreckage of the once magnificent mansion was worse than he had originally thought. 

Crawford wrinkled his nose at the noxious fumes that snaked lazily toward the night sky from the charred remains, an uncomfortable layer of sweat beginning to form on his skin from the residual heat. Around him, he heard the others rummaging through the mess - dull thumps and muted shouts from his own men as well as the Redemption's - and wondered if they were feeling as uneasy as he was in these macabre surroundings.

Uneasy? 

No, that wasn't even a possibility. Not for him.

To say that he was at all uneasy, or even uncertain about anything would usurp everything he had so painstakingly made of his life.

This wasn't uneasiness, he told himself. He merely disliked this place. Yes, that was it. He simply had a strong distaste for such a drab and lifeless setting.

Thus convinced, he cautiously toed over a large piece of burnt wood, face averting in disgust when the sickening stench of cooked flesh assaulted his senses at the action, yet for a fleeting moment, he was nine years old again, standing helpless and afraid, sniveling like a cowardly weakling amidst the blackened ruins of a life he had despised and a world he had shunned. It was a lesson that had been hard learned, but it was a lesson that would forever remain engraved in his soul: life was a ruthless entity, and if one wished to triumph, one would have to be ruthless in return, regardless of any resulting casualties along the way.

This was why he had to find Ken. He refused to believe that the brunette would dare perish so easily in this mess. Ken, in all his strength and innocence, was something he would not relinquish to anyone, a prize that was his and his alone. He wanted the beautiful brunette, and nothing and no one would stop him - not that self-confident redheaded captain and certainly not some long-buried memory of the child he used to be. He thanked whatever powers that be such the pathetic and useless creature he had been had died as well in those burning ruins that day.

A soft intake of breath to his right jarred him back to reality. He turned in the direction of the sound, only to be greeted with the sight of the kneeling, dark-haired boy who had followed him from the mass rendezvous in the woods. The child didn't look too healthy by half, his plain shirt and pants hanging loosely from the thin frame of an undernourished body, but for some reason, the kid had mindlessly tagged along with the Valiant's crew to the wreckage site and had scavenged through the rubbish like everyone else.

At that moment, the boy hissed painfully as he futilely tried to pull something from the smoldering ashes, something reflective but stuck, undoubtedly melted by the explosion and too hot to touch. Carefully closing the gap between himself and the younger brunette, Crawford narrowed his eyes against the darkness and attempted to delineate what had caught the boy's attention. Even with the fading moonlight, he had a difficult time discerning the object, but after a few minutes of inspection, he realized that the kid was trying to rescue a sword - or what used to be a sword had the hilt maintained its shape - from beneath the debris.

The small brunette looked up, noticed his small audience, and stood quickly, taking an involuntary step back as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. They stood in silence - the younger casting his gaze downward and the older staring questioningly at the former - until Crawford realized the kid wasn't going to speak unless he was spoken to.

Stepping forward, the dark-haired captain dug at the misshapen metal with his boot, as he demanded, "What is it?"

"It's ... it's a sword, sir." The boy's tone was meek, a perfect complement to his downcast eyes, and yet, Crawford could have sworn he heard an underlying hint of steel in those words - the signs of a survivor.

"I know that," he retorted, sounding as if his patience had been tried. "What's so important about it that you would risk burning yourself to remove it from this rubbish?"

His harsh voice didn't seem to affect the boy, who responded in the same non-assuming manner as before. "Schuldich was looking at it before ... " He let the sentence trail off, the rest fairly self-explanatory. "If it's here ... I thought that I could find ..."

Again, the young brunette didn't finish his thought, but he didn't need to. Crawford fully understood what he was trying to say. "So Schuldich was really caught inside the explosion," he concluded aloud.

"Yes, sir," the boy responded, eyes rising momentarily to assess the older man's reaction.

Crawford's lips thinned at the confirmation. He wasn't certain what he should feel or how he should react to such an event. Schuldich had been a good crewman these past three years, a little too arrogant and cocksure at times, but definitely convenient to have around. Still, that didn't erase the fact that the redhead was just a deckhand, another expendable pawn to him when all was said and done, which meant the heaviness that had settled inside him could only be attributed to the loss of a competent worker, not the man himself.

Yes, that and his need to find Ken.

Ken ...

"Was there anyone else with him when it happened?" he asked abruptly.

The small brunette shook his head, eyes still refusing to meet his interrogator.

"Do you know if Ken was in here at all?"

The boy didn't answer immediately, his face reflecting a mind that was trying to match the name to a face. Then, finally, "I don't know. He was taken away before we escaped. He might have made it out."

It wasn't the answer Crawford had wanted but it would have to do. The possibility that Ken might still be alive was enough to continue the chase, and that was what mattered. Nevertheless, even in knowing that the brunette might not be dead didn't seem to alleviate any of the weight inside his chest - a strange oppressiveness that he would have to analyze and rectify later.

Seeing the boy as a good source of information, more questions danced on Crawford's tongue, but before he had a chance to speak again, shouts from across the smoking ruins cut him off. Curious, he turned, and watched a huffing crewman run up to the Redemption's portly first mate and his tall, blond companion. He was too far away to hear the exchange, but judging by the tense reactions of the men to whatever news the arrival had brought, it must have been fairly significant.

Crawford observed their actions carefully; whatever turns this game decided to take, he would be ready.

(***)

'There was no possible way anyone could have survived this,' Youji thought as he sifted through the remains of what undoubtedly had been a great house. Various pieces of rubble still burned stubbornly around him, thereby illuminating the numerous holes and crevices in his search area, but even so, he knew the likelihood of finding the redheaded captain was very low.

Angry rustling and a muttered curse from several steps away veered his attention from the morbid turn his thoughts had taken and focused them on the familiar compact figure digging furiously through the smoldering mess. 

It felt odd having Omi by his side again. For the past year, he'd been trying to rid himself of the over-optimistic boy, traveling to the most obscure parts of France and encountering the most unpleasant of company in hopes of losing the younger blonde, but it had been to no avail. Somehow, in the unscrupulous Parisian tavern that long ago night, he had picked up an annoying and unwanted shadow, a quick-witted and too cheerful shadow, but an unwanted one nonetheless. There had been times in the past year when he'd wondered where Omi had come from - his background, his family, his heritage - if only to send the kid back there, but the boy had always managed to brush the issue aside nonchalantly whenever it had come up, which only infuriated Youji even more. Yet, when the golden-haired annoyance had been taken in that attack after he'd signed aboard that frigate, he'd actually found himself faced with a panic he hadn't felt in years. He remembered every gory detail of the massacre that occurred that day, the cries and dying screams embedded into his mind with a host of many others, but despite all that, what had stood out the most was watching those marauders surround and capture the free-spirited boy.

Now, Omi was here again, healthy and whole. To say that he wanted the boy gone wouldn't be the exact truth - his inexplicable need to find the young blonde was proof enough of that - but having Omi near was making him increasingly more uncomfortable, as if the youth's innocent charm and openness were revealing to him the cracks in his own feckless and rakish demeanor.

"I don't think Ken was here when it happened." Even Omi's tired voice couldn't tarnish the natural optimism of his words. Youji watched the boy rise and walk over, the brightness of those clear blue eyes visible even in the slowly dying night. "I think we've looked long enough to know that he must have made it out. I know Ken, and he seems like a strong one to me."

Youji's jaw clenched. "But even if they were in here, that explosion could have easily destroyed any evidence."

He instantly regretted his words when he saw the boy's shoulders slump, but before he got a chance to retract his hastily said statement, he heard someone else approach.

"The boy's right," Kit said as he maneuvered his sizeable bulk over the rubble to join the two blondes. "Ran isn't here. I've known the boy since he was in leading strings and practically raised him myself. I would know if he was here. Call it a sailor's intuition."

Omi's expression lightened somewhat at the reinforcement. Yet, as much as Youji would've loved to join his companions in their high hopes and wishful thinking, he knew he had to keep a level head and not get too drawn into their infectious optimism. To do so would only mean some serious repercussions if reality decided to contradict everything one had made himself believe.

"Sir!"

The loud shout and general ruckus from behind Youji had all three men turning to investigate: a large, heavyset sandy-haired man was quickly making his way toward them, his panting breaths and sweat drenched face evidence enough that the man had been running for quite some time.

Youji searched his memory for the newcomer's name: Tippy, or something to that effect, and if he recalled correctly, the man had been left on board the Redemption when the small search party had set out.

"I've got news," Tippy panted as he bent down, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. "Mr. Mumbles was working on the riggin' when he saw a ship leave harbor due north of here."

All three men straightened at the hopeful information, and waited impatiently for the rugged sailor to continue.

"One-eyed Connor took a closer look through the glass and said it was that ship we were followin' before ... that Mino-something."

Omi looked up at Youji questioningly. "Youji, do you think ..."

The taller blonde's gaze was fixed on the Redemption's first mate. "It has to be ..."

Kit's eyes hardened and with an affirming nod, he turned to the news bearer. "Tippy, round up all the men and get back to the Redemption as fast as you can. We set sail immediately."

(***)

The early morning sea air tickled Ken's bare wrists and caused his body to shiver involuntarily. Yet, the chill of the clean atmosphere was not entirely to blame for the uneasiness that had settled in his chest: just minutes prior, they had dragged both Ran and him on board their ship, stripped him of his chains and thrown them carelessly on deck to await their uncertain fate. 

Ken moved his arms experimentally and tested his newfound freedom as he looked around Nikolai's ship and assessed the surroundings. This was the first time he'd actually remained above deck as the Minotaur set sail, and even from his jaundiced point of view, he had to admit that the vessel was impressive. From bowsprit to rudder, the ship appeared to be the epitome of nautical prowess, the sizeable topsails and mainsails catching the wind easily as the crew competently handled the rigging. 

Now that they had made it out into the open sea, Ken guessed his captors saw no need for the shackles, although if he was forced to it, he had no qualms about jumping overboard. He heard Ran shift angrily beside him, the proud redhead undoubtedly furious at having been captured and treated like a lowly prisoner on board an enemy ship. However, even he knew when to concede defeat, and thus, he sat and watched, seething, as Nikolai's men went about their duties. Ken was aware of how much effort the young captain was exerting just to maintain his calm, and he could only hope the older man would restrain himself until this was all over. 

The brunette discreetly moved his hand over until it rested lightly on Ran's, hoping the contact would be encouragement enough for the man. At first, he remained still, his eyes continuing to put on the appearance of soaking in his busy surroundings, but slowly, unconsciously, unknowingly, his gaze drifted to the side ... and to the stunning violet gems that were locked intently on him.

Surprise, curiosity, and yearning clashed riotously in those bottomless pools of amethyst, a silent battle that waged within the very soul of the man by his side, and yet, Ken seemed to sense every muted cry and hear every unheard shout that begged for him to end the agony of confusion and fear. This was neither the forbidding captain he had seen at the helm of a mighty ship, nor the man he had fought with in a drunken stupor. This was Ran ... and Ken understood at that precise moment that what he was witnessing was something that no other living being had ever seen - vulnerability.

"So I assume you were the arrogant bastard who had the audacity to destroy my whole empire."

The angry voice and heavy footsteps came upon them so quick that Ken barely had time to register Nikolai's presence until the man bent down, grabbed Ran's hair, and tilted the young captain's head back so they could look face to face. Ken cautiously withdrew his hand and fisted it in hopes of reigning in his own temper. Their captor no longer carried the supplicating air of a businessman; in his place was a disheveled and emotional thing, vengeance burning in his heated gaze. Still, the brunette couldn't help but notice that Nikolai had met his match in the redhead before him. All traces of weakness had disappeared from Ran's expression, his veneer now replaced with an impassive mask as he stared coldly back at his tormentor. He didn't know how Ran had managed it, but even from his subservient position on the floorboards, the young captain appeared like he was actually looking down his nose at Nikolai.

"Go to hell," the redhead ground out calmly, eyes unwavering and seemingly oblivious of the ruthless hand pulling at his hair.

The bone-crushing punch occurred before Ran even had a chance to defend himself. Almost instantly, Ken moved to rise and attack, only to be stopped by the young captain's warning gaze as he quickly recovered.

Even with the thin crimson stream of blood leaking from his lips, the redhead somehow exuded his unquestionable air of command, and Ken found himself sitting back down grudgingly.

"I suggest you think about your actions before you carry them out, sir," Ran said slowly as he straightened, eyes deadly as they fixed themselves on the dark-haired man. "Lest you set a bad example for your men."

A harsh, mocking laugh escaped Nikolai's throat as the said man rose to stare down at the defiant redhead. "An example?" came the high-pitched and incredulous retort. "You sneak into _my_ home, steal one of _my_ possessions, destroy an empire that took _me_ a lifetime to build, and you wish _me_ to set a good example?" Malicious humor twisted the older man's lips into a grotesque imitation of a smile. "You certainly are more addlebrained than you look."

"Ken was never one of your possessions," the redhead stated seriously, insult easily ignored and hooded gaze still on his captor.

Nikolai let out another amused chuckle before responding. "Arrogant to the end," he said in an air or superiority. Then, with a resigned sigh that bordered on theatrical, he signaled for two of his men to move. 

Unsure of what the dark-haired man intended, Ken waited as two gruff sailors grabbed Ran roughly by the arms and dragged him halfway across the deck. The young captain struggled at first, refusing to move and shrugging off their hold, but he eventually saw the futility of his situation and lessened his resistance when one of his opponents pulled out a dagger and held it to his throat. Only when they stared stripping Ran of his doublet and jerkin did Ken bolt up, a white-hot streak of fury lancing through his body and blinding his vision.

"What in bloody hell are you doing?!" His shout echoed throughout the whole deck, halting almost all activity, but he didn't care. All he saw now was Ran, bare upper body exposed to the early morning air as he was unceremoniously being tied spread-eagle to the rigging of the foremast, any show of defiance on the redhead's part being answered with a blade to the throat.

"What am I doing? Why, simple, my dear boy. Your supposed saviour wanted me to set an example, and so I shall." Nikolai's glib response served to irk the brunette even more, and Ken couldn't care less for what the man had in mind. The only thing he cared about was getting Ran unbound; the redhead didn't deserve to be stripped, tied, and humiliated before a whole ship, and especially not on his account.

He started moving toward the immobilized redhead, intent on freeing the man regardless of the consequences, but he hadn't gained more than two steps before Nikolai produced a concealed pistol that had been securely tucked away in his doublet.

Ken froze, eyes leveled dangerously at the other man's smile of self-satisfaction.

"I wouldn't recommend any hasty actions, my boy," Nikolai said as he stepped closer and ran a finger gently down the side of the brunette's face. "We wouldn't want to mar any of this now, do we?"

Ken fought the urge to retch at the revolting touch.

Christ's blood, what he wouldn't give for a blade with which to run the man through.

Apparently content with the younger man's obedience, Nikolai handed his gun off to one of his men and moved to issue an order to another.

"You, bring me the cat."

Ken's eyes widened at the order.

God, no. Not that...

During his time as a slave, he had become well acquainted with the _cat o' nines_, the hated implement causing enough damage with one hit to equal that caused by nine ordinary whips - hence, its name. And they were going to use it on Ran.

Ken's gaze quickly traveled to the redhead, and suddenly, every fibre of his being seized. With his arms spread and tied above his head, the captain's sculpted chest, and firm abdomen were emphasized to utter perfection, a sight that would have been the envy of even the most skilled of artisans. Sentries of red, pink, and orange danced away from the now emerging sun, and across the lightened sky, providing an almost surreal backdrop to the bound man helplessly awaiting his fate. Ken couldn't look away, the young captain seeming simply mythical as the early dawn shone off a vision of glowing crimson and gold.

The vicious 'thwack' of a whip striking the boards was enough to break Ken's reverent trance though. Looking over at Nikolai, the brunette saw that the appointed crewman had brought the cat and had passed it to his employer for inspection. Giving the detested weapon another try, the dark-haired man finally seemed satisfied with the result and tossed it back to the waiting sailor, gesturing for the lackey to proceed as if he couldn't be bother to perform such a menial task. The assigned torturer smiled eagerly at the order, and walked over to the bound redhead with a sparkle of anticipation in his eyes.

By now, the whole crew had stopped in their regular duties and had moved to watch the show. Ken stood, disgusted and in shock, as they prepared to bring the cat down on Ran's bare back. He tried to meet the redhead's gaze from where he was, to silently tell the man that everything would be fine, just like the young captain had done that long ago night during the storm at sea, but those violet orbs were focused elsewhere, the fire of seething hate and burning defiance shining brightly in those amethyst depths as they scanned each and every one of his would be tormentors.

Ran wasn't supposed to be tied up and flogged like a common criminal. The state into which they had forced the proud and noble captain was a complete injustice, and Ken longed for the opportunity to seek retribution.

And then, the whip cracked, the crisp sound of leather striking flesh slicing through tht clean morning air unhindered.

Muscles tensed, bonds strained, and body jerked, but not a sound left the young captain's mouth.

Ken watched horrified as the whip was pulled back again in preparation for another blow, and it was then that he moved. He didn't think. He just reacted. Heedless of the gun aimed in his direction, Ken darted across the deck, past the pairs of watchful eyes, past the authoritative figure of Nikolai, and to the bound redhead. He managed to cover Ran just as the cat was brought down, the stinging lash feeling like a thousand heated needles digging into his own back. His sharp intake of breath caused the tied captain to stiffen in realization at what the brunette had done.

"Get off!" Ran screamed and tried to buck the younger man from his back.

Ken wrapped his arms a little more securely over redhead's shoulders and rested his forehead in Ran's silken hair, the burning pain on his back momentarily forgotten with his closeness to the captain. "No," he said quietly enough so that only the man he was protecting could hear.

"Ken, get off now!" Ran shouted again. Seeing that his command was being disobeyed, he turned to Nikolai. "Get him off," he hissed out in a dangerous voice. "Your punishment was intended for me, not him."

The dark-haired man smiled lopsidedly and shrugged. "If the boy wants to suffer in your stead, I have no objections. In fact, it's quite entertaining to watch." Then, oblivious of the lethal intentions written plainly on Ran's face, Nikolai gestured for the flogging to continue.

And so, again, the whip cracked.

Ken briefly tightened his hold on Ran as the lancing pain shot through his back, but he tried to distance himself from it; instead, he concentrated on the warm feel and the enticing smell of the man in his arms. He heard the redhead say something to him - some noble command about leaving him unprotected no doubt - but it was eventually lost in the bittersweet haze that encompassed him and removed him from the torture and pain that reality had become.

Thus, the cat was brought down again ... and again ... and again ...

(***)

"Get off!"

Ran shrugged his shoulders violently in hopes of tossing the brunette from him, but the warm weight of the younger man's body clung stubbornly to his back. He didn't know whom he was madder at: Nikolai for his maligned intentions or Ken for his act of sheer idiocy.

His grip tightened even more on the ropes binding his wrists as the whip was brought down again, jaw clenching as he heard Ken's breath hitch in his ear.

"Goddamnit, Ken, get off," he said more quietly, more pleadingly, more desperately to the brunette behind him.

No movement.

He heard the whip strike again and again, a sickening crack that stripped away a little bit of his soul each and every time it echoed into his ears, and although he didn't feel the paralyzing sting of the treated leather against his skin, he sensed every painful lash in the irregularity of Ken's breath, in the bucking of his smaller body, and in every death grip of the strained arms around his neck. He closed his eyes, teeth grinding at his own helplessness and his inability to protect the man he had originally planned to save.

'Please, God,' he prayed silently to a faith he had turned his back on long ago. He was willing to try anything now, anything as long as Ken was safe. 'Please, let him survive this ... please ... '

The smell of sweat and blood eventually saturated the air around him, the thick, suffocating stench enclosing the two bodies in a sickening blanket of otherworldly pain and detached suffering. Disinterestedly, Ran noticed rivulets of moisture trickle lingeringly down his neck and onto his bare chest: whether it was his own sweat or Ken's, or something else entirely, he didn't know, but it was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

So focused was the young captain on the constant pressure against his back that he failed to notice the lack of response from the brunette at each crack of the whip until he felt Ken's hold slacken around him.

Panic tasted like bitter bile as it rose in his throat.

"Stop!" Ran yelled as he tried to keep the deadweight of the younger man's body from crashing to the boards. "He's had enough! Stop!"

Flashing violet eyes shot daggers at Nikolai. The dark-haired man didn't even raise an eyebrow. With a slight nod of his head, Ran felt the bonds around his wrists loosen. Uncaring of the rope-burned and raw skin on his arms, the redhead quickly twisted around to catch Ken's unconscious body the moment his ropes were cut away.

Perspiration had plastered the younger man's dark hair to his face and gave that angelic countenance an almost ethereal sheen, but not even that could distract Ran's attention from the blood that seeped onto his hands from the open wounds on the brunette's back.

With a gentleness that would have put the most devoted of mothers to shame, the young captain lowered his burden to the ground, worried eyes working busily to ensure that the younger man was still alive. The slow rise and fall of Ken's chest calmed him somewhat, but it wasn't enough to erase the burning fury and raging hatred the redhead harbored.

Eyes gleaming with a demonic light, Ran looked up and found the man responsible for the brunette's condition. "You're dead," he said in a voice that would've frozen molten lava.

Even Nikolai took a step back at the threat, dark eyes widening considerably at the power a single man could wield in his voice alone. Quickly collecting himself, he forced a self-assured smirk onto his face. "And how, pray tell, will you accomplish that?"

Sometimes, Fate indeed did have a convoluted sense of humour - or so Ran would've thought upon reflection later - for no sooner had those words left Nikolai's mouth than a resounding boom cut through the tension-filled air.

Immediately, like any well-run ship, the crew sprang into action, orders loudly shouted and battle stations hastily assigned as every man prepared himself for the upcoming attack. Ran glanced quickly at the horizon, an unconscious smile of satisfaction appearing on his lips as he caught sight of the Redemption's outline in the distance. His ship was easily traversing the distance between herself and the Minotaur, sails set at full and all gun ports opened. The one thing he was concerned about was her angle of attack: judging by her speed, he could only guess that Kit hadn't realized he was bringing the Redemption in on the side of the Minotaur's gun ports. Ran hoped his crew and ship would be able to withstand a volley or two from Nikolai's cannons.

As if on cue, he felt the boards beneath him shake while the Minotaur fired in one huge explosion of gunpowder and grapeshot. Not to be outdone, the Redemption returned the attack in kind almost instantly, the crew reloading in record time, loosing a volley of her own through her primed and carefully adjusted cannons as well. And this time, her aim was true as splintering wood and ripping sails filled the smoke tainted air that blanketed the larger ship.

Ran instinctively threw himself on Ken's unconscious body as shattered debris rained down on them at the hit. Chaos erupted around him before he even rose, shouts of colluding anger and agony spreading throughout the ship at the damage - both on the vessel and to her crew - caused by the sudden attack.

Thinking that both crews would need some time to reload their weapons, the redhead pushed himself up and began to drag Ken's still form to a safer location, at least a sheltered area away from errant shrapnel and wood. Yet, he hadn't taken more than three steps when another volley of cannon fire whistled through the air. He barely had enough time to brace himself before half-falling and half-diving onto the brunette as the massive impact rocked the whole foundation of the boat. Rising faster this time, Ran looked over the rail opposite to where the Redemption had been and to the source of the most recent attack - the Valiant.

Somehow, the redhead wasn't surprised. He quickly assessed the course heading of the third ship, and cursed under his breath at the misfortune; Crawford wanted to board, and with the velocity and angle of approach, his vessel would arrive sooner than the Redemption, hindered as she was by the Minotaur's cannons whereas the Valiant was not.

Not giving any more thought to the matter, Ran moved into action and continued to pull Ken away from all the violence. The small awning created by a ripped sail beside the stairs of the quarterdeck was the best he could find, and so, he left the brunette there while he searched for a way to assist his own crew.

His eyes fortuitously alighted on a discarded cutlass lying beside a fallen body of a burned sailor mere steps away. Any hesitation in picking up the weapon was dispelled when, in his peripheral vision, he noticed the dark figure of Nikolai through the smoky haze flitter across the deck. Lips set in a grim line, he dashed to grab the lying sword and started to move toward the front of the ship. He didn't get more than halfway when the whole vessel shuddered and a loud crack rent through the air.

Ran looked up.

Bloody hell.

He turned and jumped as far away from his original spot as possible, breath leaving his lungs in one huge rush at his rough landing, but still, himself managing to move out of harm's way as the foremast fell in a sad display of tattered canvas and splintered wood. The pained cries of the men caught in the makeshift avalanche were the only things he heard for a moment, but even that was quickly dismissed when he saw the grappling hooks latch onto the rails.

Crawford's men were boarding ... and no doubt the dark-haired captain would be with them. Hand tightening around his borrowed sword, Ran rose. He wanted Nikolai's blood, he wanted to watch the man suffer a slow, lingering death for what he'd done to Ken, and neither the Minotaur's men nor the Valiant's were going to stand in his way.

Letting out a growl that sounded near inhuman, he charged, efficiently and methodically cutting a bloody swath through a maze of men. He didn't know - and didn't care - if they were the boarders or the boarded; there was only one person he was concerned about and that man was hiding near the forecastle like the coward he was.

His blade was well-honed, but even its lethalness could not match that of its wielder, whose bloodlust and thirst for vengeance had almost blinded him of all else save that one singular goal. It was not until Ran blocked a deadly slash from a beautifully crafted Damascus steel blade that he was jostled back into reality.

His blazing violet gaze fell onto the fine weapon and slowly traveled up its length to its owner.

Crawford.

Their eyes clashed. Their challenges were made. And without a word, their duel began.

Thrust and parry. Slash and block. Lunge and deflect. The lessons in swordplay that had long been drummed into his head by his father and his years at sea flowed like water through his mind and into his muscles. His body moved in perfect harmony with the sharpness of his wits, the intricate dance of life and death performed to perfection with his partner amidst the blinding smoke and the fervent battle cries of the two crews.

Crawford moved as skillfully as he, his attacks well planned and well placed. If Ran didn't know any better, he would've thought the dark-haired captain had had the same formal, aristocratic training as he had had, their blades meeting in complete accordance as if they had rehearsed this fight earlier and could read each other's moves before they even occurred.

Nevertheless, they continued to spar, swords meeting with a deadly clang as their breaths slowly quickened and became shallower. Ran didn't know how long they kept at it, but he felt his muscles begin to tire at the constant strain and his grip begin to slip at the sheen of sweat on his palm. Yet, if it meant Ken's life, he would've fought to the very end of his own physical limitations and beyond; however, as the case turned out, he didn't have to.

He had seen Crawford's attack easily, and riposte without thought, but as the other man withdrew his blade in preparation for another thrust, two heavy bodies came barreling at him from the right side, sending him off balance even as he tried to evade them. He didn't know whether they were the Valiant's men come to help their captain, or if they were the Minotaur's men come to recapture a prisoner, but frankly, he didn't care ... not when they were so intent on fighting him.

Ran barely had time to adjust to their crude style of swordsmanship before they attacked, teeth bared and swords raised. The first impact knocked him back a few steps, but after the initial hit, he collected himself and reaffirmed his grip on his weapon, now completely ready to face his two new opponents. Thus, he fought, the heat of battle claiming his entire being, consuming all rational thought as time and time again, he taunted death. And yet, even the overwhelming fever couldn't mask the sudden desperation he felt when he saw Crawford give him a mild salute and head off toward the quarterdeck ... and Ken.

(***)

His whole world had become nothing more than a collage of sensations.

Heat ... a burning, branding, scorching fire that licked every inch of skin on his back.

Pounding ... an assaulting, crashing, booming cacophony that filled the air around him.

And softness ... a warm, assertive, firm gentleness that pulled at his body relentlessly.

Ken forced open his eyes, and through the heavy fog of pain, he was greeted with a smoky, grotesque scene of blood and slaughter. He leaned heavily on whatever or whoever had been holding him, his head spinning at the effort of remaining conscious.

"Come, Ken love. Just a little more and we'll be off this godforsaken ship ..."

That voice ... deep, rich ... so familiar ... he'd heard that voice once long ago in the dark recesses of his mind, buried memories of a time better left forgotten.

"We're almost there..."

Crawford!

Despite the willpower it took, he managed to keep his eyes open and look over at the man assisting him across the floating battlefield. Mussed black hair, matted to his forehead with sweat, feathered over hard, yet determined, gold eyes, its owner currently half-dragging and half-carrying him toward the middle of the ship.

Even in his state of semi-consciousness, he felt an overwhelming urge to distance himself away from the man and his revolting touch. Gathering as much strength as he could, he began to resist and push away from the dark-haired captain, but weakened as he was, he didn't meet with much success.

Then, as Fortune would have it, Crawford threw him to the side, leaving the barely cognizant brunette to hang on desperately to the ship's rail to remain upright. Ken glanced over with half-slit eyes and noticed that one of the Minotaur's sailors had decided to engage the Valiant captain. If it hadn't hurt so much, the brunette would've actually smiled at having made his escape so easily.

Ran. The name came to him from nowhere.

He had to find Ran.

Opening his heavy eyelids further, he quickly scanned the chaos around him for a familiar flash of crimson.

Nothing.

Although he found no trace of the redhead, he was not at all surprised considering the suffocating smoke of cannon fire and his own semi-lucid state. But one thing did catch his attention: a slip of black near the forecastle deck, heading toward the crew's quarters - Nikolai.

Lips thinning with resolve, Ken started moving toward the bow, his feet more staggering than walking as he inched over using the ship's rail for support. Along the way, he stumbled over a discarded sword that had probably belonged to one of the unfortunate sailors whose bodies lay strewn all over the deck. Rather clumsily, he picked it up and painfully continued on his way.

He didn't know how he managed to traverse half the length of the ship without incident, but somehow, he did, head screaming and back protesting from the overexertion as he slowly descended the steps into the darkness of the crew's quarters.

The first thing he noticed as he stepped onto the boards below deck was the shock of coldness that lapped around his legs. Ken moved experimentally and almost fell when the effort did nothing more than throw him off balance.

The ship was taking on water ... and fast.

Refusing to be deterred by this, he looked around the darkened chamber, the light from the open hatch his only source of illumination. 

But Nikolai had snuck down here; of that he was certain. Closing his eyes, Ken fought the driving need to fall back into a painless oblivion and focused on the sounds around him. Anger fuelled his efforts, and where it ended, pure unadulterated vengeance took over.

It didn't take him long to hear the unnatural splashing off to his left. Moving with a speed that contradicted his injured state, Ken trudged determinedly through the thigh high water.

"Nikolai!" he yelled as he approached, sword poised to deliver a deathblow.

The older man turned, his ashen face becoming much clearer now against the blackness that surrounded him.

"You - !" Startlement, surprise, and fear - yes, fear - lit up in the man's dark eyes, but Ken never had a chance to relish it. Nikolai was a businessman, not a fighter, and because of that, Ken's sword thrust met its mark easily, the dying man gasping in disbelief at the swiftness with which the blade had pierced his chest.

Nonetheless, the brunette pushed his weapon deeper still until the lethal tip exited the body in the back, reveling in the frozen immortal look of shock emblazoned on the older man's face and the warm, dripping blood that languidly dripped onto his hand. For in Nikolai, Ken saw every reason that his treasures had been stolen from him, every man who had dared possess him, and every injustice that had ever been done to him.

After twisting the sword for good measure, Ken emitted a feral growl when he was content with his handiwork, and pulled his blade out with what was left of his waning strength. Nikolai's lifeless body plopped into the rising water with a resounding splash, and not long thereafter, Ken found his own legs giving out as well, the driving force that had kept him going until now dissipating at an alarming rate.

And so, he fell into the frigid liquid, body spent and mind ceding consciousness as it removed itself from the physical. To Ken, the world was no longer his concern, detached as he was from the piercing agony of his back and the debilitating numbness of his limbs while he floated into a comforting, senseless void.

(***)

"Captain!"

Ran whipped around, crimson stained blade ready to take on the next opponent, and paused when he saw his first mate amble around a sea of fallen bodies toward him. Slowly, the red-tinged cloud of battle began to lift and the young captain looked around the corpse-covered deck that had been his battleground. His own men had boarded and what few skirmishes were still going were being taken care of by the new arrivals.

"Captain, we need to get off the ship now!" Kit shouted loudly as he approached. "She's taking on water, and we can't keep the Redemption here when she sinks."

Ran knew the consequences of leaving his vessel attached to the Minotaur; he risked sinking the Redemption as well.

"Kit," he commanded in a voice that brooked no argument. "Get the men back onto the ship now and move her to a safe distance."

"Captain?"

"Now, Kit." A slow burning violet fire blazed in the young captain's eyes. "I need to find Ken first."

"Ran ..."

"Go, Kit."

The first mate straightened at the serious tone. "Yes, sir!" Orders taken, Kit quickly left to carry them out.

Ran didn't give his old friend another thought. If there was one thing he trusted above all else, it was Kit's loyalty and competence, traits that he would be eternally grateful for considering their many years at sea.

With Kit off to round up his crew, Ran turned his attention to the more urgent situation at hand. He had seen Crawford head toward Ken after their pre-empted duel, but he could have sworn that he'd seen the dark-haired man fighting just moments ago. A glance at the quarterdeck told him that Ken wasn't there any longer. Trying to keep his panic under control, he skirted around fallen bodies and slid across the blood-slicked deck toward the captain's cabin.

Nothing.

Undeterred, he headed below deck. Systematically, he checked the hold back to front, and eventually made his way to the forecastle.

The forecastle ...

Ran mentally kicked himself: how in God's name had he forgotten about Nikolai? He had last seen the man head in this direction but had been so easily diverted by Crawford and his ensuing opponents that the man had been forgotten. Bracing himself to perhaps meet - and ideally kill - the bastard, Ran cautiously made his way down into the crew's quarters.

Almost immediately, the redhead's eyes widened at the scene before him. The Minotaur was taking on water and nowhere was that clearer than this half-submerged chamber. Ran couldn't see anything in the murky darkness, but even so, he dove into the rapidly rising fluid - to look for Ken, if not Nikolai. The meager light from the opened hatch was not enough to see by, although the water's reflective quality helped his situation slightly.

But he couldn't give up now. He refused to believe that Crawford had taken Ken, and since he'd already looked through the whole ship, this was the only place left. Nikolai became a mere afterthought as he swam blindly around the cold water, his chest constricting and his throat burning as he continued to feel nothing in his path but unresisting liquid.

"God, Ken, where are you?"

A frantic, almost hysterical, emotional wave began to overtake him and if he hadn't been experiencing it firsthand, he would never have believed it: he, Ran Fielding, captain and privateer extraordinaire, was panicking.

Just as that thought occurred to him, something featherlike grazed his left hand. Latching onto whatever it was wildly, he managed to grab what felt like a handful of fabric and drag it closer to the outside light source for inspection.

It was Nikolai, dark eyes frozen wide open in an ashen-grey death mask.

Dead.

Ran pushed the body away in disgust and swam back into the darkness. "Ken. I know you're here ..."

No response.

Swimming deeper into the chamber, Ran felt desperately around him for something - anything - that would anchor his sanity. He was operating in pure darkness at the moment, so far was he from the open hatch, but even so, he wouldn't give up. He had finally found Ken after such a long and arduous search, and there was no way in hell he was going to lose the brunette now, not when he'd come so close to having it all.

Reaching out a hand, he ended up touching the wall and realized that he'd gone as far as he could go.

"Damnit, Ken, where are you?" he muttered.

The contact was too brief, and Ran wouldn't have felt it at all had he removed his hand from the wall, but something did brush up against him just then. Reaching out like a madman, the redhead took hold of a human form. Swiftly, he dragged his discovery back toward the hatch and its revealing light, careful to ensure that whomever he had found floated on his back.

Simple words could not describe the overwhelming sense of happiness that flooded through him the moment he could see the beautiful face of the man he'd found, his muscles weak all of a sudden as he tried to pull the heavy form above deck. Worriedly, he checked for Ken's pulse when he got to the hatch, and felt his own heart stop when he couldn't find one. He pushed his thumb and index finger a bit harder against the sides of the brunette's neck, and almost cried out in relief when a slow, barely perceptible beat drummed beneath his fingertips.

He blinked rapidly at the sudden burning in his eyes, absently cursing the effects of the salt water for causing such a discomfort as he held Ken close and began pulling him up on deck.

By the time Ran got Ken's unconscious form out into the early morning sun, the water had risen to fill almost the whole chamber below. He hadn't realized that he'd been under for so long.

A swift look around the deserted deck told him that both the Valiant and the Redemption had cast off their hooks, their sails now flapping loudly a short distance away.

Ran bent down, looped his arms around Ken's chest, and began dragging the brunette toward the quarterdeck. His already overexerted muscles screamed bloody murder at the additional strain but he didn't care. He was so close ... 

The trek was a difficult one, especially considering the upward slant of his path and the blood-soaked slipperiness of the boards, but eventually he made it to the mid-ship rail, Ken in tow. Looking over, he assessed the jump to be a safe one and lifted the brunette's weight up with a grunt. So doing, he pulled his own legs over, tightened his hold on Ken, ... and jumped.

The pain of his impact with the water was almost a welcomed reprieve considering all that he had gone through - a world of silence and peace that came to meet him in a rush of tranquility - but as the refreshing liquid encompassed him, he remembered the important bundle in his arms. Tightening his grip even more around the brunette, Ran began to kick furiously, propelling himself and his impromptu passenger up towards the rays of sunlight.

He broke through the surface with one giant gasp of air, and looked down quickly to ensure that Ken was still breathing. The younger man's breath was shallower, but he was alive, and for Ran, that was enough. Looking around, the redhead began to orient himself, eyes skimming over the welcoming figure of the Redemption, and then the more looming one of the Valiant. Ran froze for a moment: there, standing tall on the quarterdeck of the latter ship, undoubtedly staring down at him, was a familiar dark-haired figure that he had come to despise - Crawford.

The redhead's eyes narrowed briefly. That man would have to be dealt with later; that, Ran swore to himself. But first, he had to make sure Ken was safe.

And so, he began to swim, his precious burden secure in one arm as he moved away from the sinking ship, away from the Valiant, and to the Redemption ... toward home.

  
End Chapter 14 


	15. Upon a Painted Ocean

_Upon a Painted Ocean  
Chapter 15: Upon a Painted Ocean_

Something was wrong with him. 

Ran leaned back in his chair and stared fixedly at the reposing figure on the adjacent bed. He had come in here nearly an hour ago to briefly check on Ken's condition, and somehow, he had ended up sitting calmly in his cabin and watching the brunette sleep. The tranquility provided by the sound of the younger man's even breaths, the peace created from the rhythmic rise and fall of that chest, and the plain serenity exuded by that relaxed face ... it all conspired against him.

Yes, something was definitely wrong with him.

The initial worry that had first consumed him when his crew had dragged both Ken and him from the ocean had long subsided. After treating the brunette's wounds and ensuring that he would live, Ran had quickly carried the younger man into his own cabin in hopes that the more comfortable surroundings would assist in a faster recovery. If his crew had had any objections or comments to their captain's uncharacteristic actions, they never said anything.

And now, Ran couldn't seem to tear himself away. He should get back on deck, back to the mindless - and safe - routine of commanding the ship, but the very act of doing so required more willpower than he was capable of at the moment. Granted, he was the captain, a man well above the duty of seeing to the needs of a common crewman, but as he had slowly learned these past few months, the basic structure of his well-ordered life made no sense when the brunette was involved.

"Ken, what have you done to me?" he whispered as he bent over and brushed an errant lock of rich brown hair from the younger man's sleeping face. His fingers lingered guiltily on the soft skin, and in that instance, Ran experienced what he would've labeled as one of the most perfect moments in his life.

Just then, the sleeping man shifted slightly, causing the redhead to quickly pull his hand away. Ran waited, expecting the brunette to open his eyes, but when nothing of the kind occurred, he sighed and pushed himself up.

'I should really get back on deck,' he thought resignedly as he began walking toward the door. The Redemption would be docking soon, and he did not doubt that he'd be needed above deck.

"Ran?"

The softly spoken word stopped the young captain in his tracks. He didn't know if he was nervous or relieved that Ken was awake, but either way, he found himself unable to move at the hoarse voice, preferring instead to let the thick silence settle around him.

He couldn't let it go on like this, he told himself as he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. To feel this uneasiness and this uncertainty whenever Ken was near ... it was not something he could leave alone. He needed to alleviate this unwanted tension that always descended between the two of them, to make sense of these conflicting emotions that assaulted him in Ken's presence. He needed to ... but not right now.

'Coward,' an inner voice echoed in his head.

Ran pointedly ignored it and turned to directly meet those drowsy brown eyes. "Go back to sleep, Ken," he said gently. "We'll be arriving in port soon so you can rest all you want."

Ran wondered when he'd started running from his problems as he started for the exit again. Was it so difficult to sit down and explore these unfamiliar emotions that overrode his rationality at every turn? Was it so difficult to analyze the reasons for his uncharacteristic actions these past few months? Was it so difficult to simply face Ken?

No, he concluded after a brief moment of reflection. But it scared the bloody hell out of him.

"No, wait! Captain ... Ran ... "

The redhead froze with his hand on the doorknob as his name bounced off the walls of the cabin. This was only the fourth time he'd ever heard Ken say his name, and despite the breech in protocol, Ran relished the rare sound as it rolled off the brunette's tongue like precious drops of diamonds.

"I ... I ... " Ken seemed to be at a loss for words. Then, after taking a steadying breath, "Thank you."

At this, Ran turned around, surprised that the injured man would even say such a thing. "Why? What for?" he asked like a fool.

Ken struggled to rise, and after the first two failed - and painful - attempts, the young captain finally moved to help. Touching the brunette while he was asleep was one thing, but the feel of those moving muscles beneath his hand while the man was awake and cognizant was another; Ken's heat suffused through his skin, soaked into every pore, and sweetly branded the very core of his being. Only through some mysterious inner strength was he able to pull away, leaving Ken to catch his breath at the strenuous movement.

The younger man took a few moments to accustom himself to the pain before looking up at his assistant. "I have more to thank you for than you realize, Captain," he said levelly. At Ran's puzzled look, he continued. "For coming to get me when anyone else would've forgotten, for showing me a taste of freedom when I never thought it possible ... and for giving me hope when I didn't know I needed it ..."

The redhead listened to the words and understood the meaning behind them, but he had never considered that the scars Ken harbored ran so deep. Yet, still, after everything, he was not privy to that aspect of the brunette's life, no matter how much he wanted to share whatever darkness the former slave kept so adamantly buried. That was something only Ken himself could rectify.

"For everything," the injured man finished, seemingly done with his expression of gratitude.

Ran waited for more, something - anything - that might have pointed to how the very tension that had once existed between them had changed. But nothing was forthcoming. He stared down at the sitting man, thirstily drinking in the beautiful sight of those soulful brown eyes and the thick, mussed hair. So this was how Ken wished it, this continued game of hidden secrets and enigmatic pasts. He had thought ... he had thought that back on the island, they had thrown away these masks and riddles, that he had finally found something in this godforsaken world that made life worthwhile. But apparently, that was not the case. Only now was he aware of the risk he had taken back at Nikolai's mansion, making himself so vulnerable and open like that. Had Ken known and taken advantage of what it had cost him to offer a piece of himself after their skirmish on the island, he would've surely been destroyed.

He was such a bloody idiot sometimes.

Standing straighter, he erased all emotion from his face and spoke with the no-nonsense tone he used when addressing his crewmen. "It was a debt I had to pay. After all, you had a hand in freeing me from the Tower, did you not?" The question was rhetorical, and both men knew it. "We're even now," the redhead added, eyes hardening as he turned away and began to move toward the door.

"No, wait!"

Ran stopped, hope flaring but easily tempered when past experiences played over in his mind.

"I owe you much, Captain ... "

"No, you don't," the redhead stated quickly and harshly.

'You have it the other way around,' he wanted to add. 'You showed me a side of myself that I had thought died the day the Mary Rose sank ... you showed me the value of life, and for that, I owe you everything.'

But for Ran, those words were only spoken inside his head, locked and sealed away by a fear he could not overcome and could have done without. He clamped down on his tongue, and closed his eyes in an effort to collect himself and maintain the demeanor he'd long made his trademark. He was the captain of one of the most renowned privateer ships to sail the oceans, and he refused to be weakened by a man who was nothing more than a deckhand.

"Yes ... yes, I do," Ken said, unaware of the redhead's inner turmoil. "You've wanted to know about me since the day I came aboard, didn't you? You've wanted me to open up and tell you who I was before you found me?"

Ran clenched his fists, valiantly fighting the mixed emotions that flooded through him, and the urges to turn and face the brunette.

"It's the least I can offer you in return for everything you've - "

"No!" The shout escaped the redhead's lips before he could stop it. Fury fueling the violet fires of his eyes, he whipped around and pinned Ken to the bed with his anger. "Don't even start. I don't want to hear it!"

Ken watched the standing man with surprise. "Ran ... ?"

"If you tell me, let it be because you _want_ to, not because you have to," the young captain ground out, gaze unwavering. He realized he'd just undermined the very character he'd tried to portray, but frankly, he couldn't make himself care anymore. "Tell me because you believe in me, because you trust me," he said more softly. "Please, Ken, at least give me that much dignity ... after everything we've been through."

Even after hearing himself say the words, he had a difficult time believing that he was the source of such a soul-baring confession. And yet, it was too late to retract it all now, especially when he had spoken with such uncharacteristic emotion in his voice. He understood that he'd just put himself at Ken's mercy, revealing his very being - unarmed and vulnerable - for the younger man to do as he desired. He could only hope that it wouldn't be too cruel.

And when the brunette didn't say anything, but only stared back impassively, Ran felt something inside him begin to die. Chest constricting painfully, the proud captain lifted his head up higher and turned to leave.

"My father was a pirate."

Ken's voice was strong, clear, and unhindered by the shields that the redhead had grown accustomed to hearing. He looked back at the younger man whose eyes were shining with earnestness, honesty, ... and openness. Slowly, and unconsciously, the stunned captain retraced his steps and lowered himself into the chair he'd occupied earlier, an inexplicable fluttering materializing in the pit of his stomach at what was about to unfold before him.

"My mother was a prisoner he'd taken when he attacked a British ship," the brunette continued when the captain had settled into his seat. Nostalgic light gleaming in his eyes, he turned his dark gaze to the cabin window and the endless sea beyond, a small smile playing on his lips. "She was beautiful, my mother ... an English noblewoman who probably would have had all the men at her feet had she stayed at court."

Reminiscent expression still on his face, Ken turned his attention back to Ran. "Do you know why I hated you so much when I first came on board?"

Ran shook his head, afraid to speak for fear of interrupting the other man's tale.

"It was because I thought you were like him, my father." Those usually vivid brown eyes turned cold at the mention of the man, and Ran only caught a brief glimpse of the hatred that burned in their depths before the younger man looked down at his hands. "He took her captive, raped her, and then, was so taken with her that he kept her. And every day, for the rest of her life, he killed her piece by piece - a piece of her beauty, a piece of her spirit, and a piece of her soul. In the end, she couldn't stand it anymore, and hanged herself. When I found her body, I couldn't help but feel happy for her because finally, she was free."

The sadness and desolation written plainly on Ken's face contradicted the very happiness he spoke of, and the redhead was hard-pressed not to reach out and comfort the man. Instead, he asked, "How old were you?"

"Eleven," Ken replied softly, eyes now fixated on some piece of thread on the blanket covering his lap. "Not old enough to know the ways of the world, but enough to understand the misery my mother lived through. She taught me so much - how to read, how to write, how to act like a gentleman ... but even I knew how happy she was when she finally ended it all."

"Ken ... " Ran wanted to sound sympathetic, wanted to sound comforting, but years of neglecting that aspect of his character only made his interjection seem more like a command to stop.

The brunette looked over at his only audience and gave him a small smile of reassurance before returning his gaze downward. Then, with renewed vigor, he continued. "They never married, which meant that I was born a bastard, but on my father's ship, there was no distinction held in a man's birth. And so, I grew up at sea, and worked alongside his men like any other deckhand."

At the younger man's brief pause, Ran saw an opportunity to appease some of his curiosity. "What was he like? Your father, I mean."

Of all the responses the redhead had expected, it definitely wasn't the abrupt laugh that erupted from Ken, an empty, humorless sound tinged by an undertone of regret and lost opportunities. "My father?" the brunette repeated with a derisive smirk once his outburst had subsided. "He was a reprobate, a drunkard, an irresponsible rakeshell ... a dim-witted piece of slime that wouldn't have even been fit to grace the bottom of your boot. In fact, now that I think back on it, I don't know how he survived so long, let alone run a ship. By the time I was sixteen, it was basically me who was commanding his crew, me leading the raids that he so foolishly wanted to conduct. God, there were so many times I wanted that man dead. I didn't care if it was a sin."

Ran sat patiently by, waiting for Ken to vent the anger that he had repressed for much too long. But when the brunette didn't continue, the young captain decided to ask another question that had been dancing on his tongue. "And Crawford?"

At the mention of that man's name, dark brown eyes focused on the interrogator, and a corner of the upturned lips quirked up even higher. "You know about Crawford?"

The redhead nodded.

Ken sighed before he turned to stare straight ahead and started his explanation. "It happened the day I turned eighteen. I don't remember what port we were anchored in, but I had accidentally bumped into a man on the docks when I was supervising the loading of some supplies. He appeared normal enough, polite and well mannered, but during the next few days in port, I would catch glimpses of him ... it seemed like no matter where I went, he had followed. Then, on our last night on land, a crewman informed me that my father had gotten soused at a local tavern, and that he'd taken up with some questionable company. To be honest, I wasn't surprised, but nonetheless, he was my father and we couldn't leave port without him. And so, I went to find him, only to discover that he'd been gambling with the very man who had been following me the past several days."

"Crawford?" Ran supplied.

The brunette inclined his head at his companion's assumption. "By the time I arrived, Crawford had managed to win my father's ship in a hand of cards. My father, even in his drunken state, understood what he'd done and was desperate to get it back."

"So what did he do?"

Again, that empty smile graced Ken's lips, an expression the redhead would prefer never to see on the man again. "When Crawford saw me, he offered my father a choice: his ship or me. Guess what he chose?"

Ran leaned back in his chair, not liking the direction the story was heading.

"Apparently, his ship was worth more to him than his own son." The brunette's face darkened into seriousness as if recalling the events of that fateful day. "I tried to run away, but Crawford had his men ready. Before I knew it, I was ... I was his. I attempted to escape so many times, but he was always ready for it. He even marked me, claiming that I was his." Absently, Ken reached back and touched the scar branded on the base of his neck. Then, almost fearfully, he glanced over at the redhead before casting his gaze downward again.

"And your father?" Ran prompted, fighting to keep his own anger at Crawford out of his voice and refusing to discourage Ken from finishing his tale.

The question was met with a momentary silence and the young captain suddenly regretted his inquiry when Ken's eyes glistened brightly with the sheen of unshed tears. "I had been on the Valiant for less than a day when Crawford chased my father's ship down and sank her. I watched on deck as the only home and the only life I had ever known sunk before my eyes. I may not have loved my father, but he was my father nonetheless, and the crew ... I had so many friends in that crew ... but they all died with the ship. I remember Crawford saying that with the ship gone, I had nowhere to escape to ... "

"But you did escape ..."

"Yes, I escaped," the brunette breathed out and finally turned to speak directly to his companion. "At one of the ports we came to, but like he said, I had nowhere to go. And I got careless. I had wanted to get away from him so badly that I accidentally snuck onto a slave ship, and the rest ... well, for the next few years of my life, I learned the meaning of true captivity."

Ran watched silently as Ken's expression went from haunted to resigned, and finally, to fatigued. If it had been within his power, he would've erased all those painful memories from the younger man's life: Ken wasn't meant to suffer these harsh trials that had been inflicted upon him. He was meant to smile and laugh with the carefree brightness and the charming innocence he had somehow managed to secretly retain all these years. Even now, after everything he had undergone, the brunette still carried an undefeated air about him, an untarnished strength that Ran couldn't help but admire ... and love.

Love?

Just then, a shout from above deck interrupted his musings, and the young captain couldn't have been more grateful for its timeliness. Giving the brunette his most sincere look, he rose. "I need to prepare for docking," he said gruffly, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar feelings that had settled within him. "Get some rest."

If the drooping eyes were any indication, Ken was obviously worn out from speaking, and thus, without argument, he nodded and lay back down with a pained wince. Ran watched the injured man shift to make himself more comfortable in his bed, feeling something that resembled protectiveness grip him - and it didn't have the same quality as what he felt toward his ship or crew. This was much stronger, definitely different ... and completely frightening.

Ran walked over to the door and placed his hand on the knob before turning his head to give Ken one last look. He couldn't do anything about the younger man's past, but he could certainly do something about his future, he decided. 

"Thank you," he said quietly to the reposing man.

"Hmm?" came the drowsy response.

Ran smiled slightly at the childish air of the reaction. "Thank you, Ken, for telling me ... and for trusting me," he finished before opening the door and stepping back out on the deck ... and into his captain's role.

(***)

_Candia, Crete_

Ran hopped off the gangplank and onto the unfamiliar deck, eyes quickly taking in the lax sails and the loose rigging of the ship he had seen too many times in the past few weeks. The Redemption had docked a little over two hours ago in Candia, and much to his consternation, the young captain had watched, seething, as the Valiant sailed into the port shortly thereafter. It had not taken him long to decide on a course of action upon seeing Crawford's ship, and thus, after finishing his duties on his own ship, he'd left to seek out the other vessel.

And now, here he was, easily boarding the nearly deserted Valiant without any interference, his plan clearly set in his mind and his objective unmistakably etched before him. He had to find Crawford; the sooner he saw the man, the sooner he could be put at ease about Ken's fate.

Ran looked around, noting only three unknown sailors working diligently at untangling the rigging that hung messily from the masts. Even with the skeleton crew, the redhead received the impression that this was a well-run ship, and yet, somehow, he couldn't help but feel that it lacked the comfortable atmosphere of the Redemption.

"I didn't expect to see you so soon."

The calm voice snapped the captain from his unconscious assessment. Ran turned his attention to the quarterdeck, back straight and eyes unwavering as he waited for the figure to descend the few steps onto the main deck. "We have some unfinished business to attend to and I'm not a man who avoids his duties," he said to Crawford as he looked the man up and down: the crisp white shirt, clean dark breeches, and newly polished boots would've easily fooled an outsider into believing that the dark-haired man was a gentleman at leisure.

"Then is this a challenge?" One dark eyebrow rose as its owner noticed the lack of weapon around his visitor's waist.

Ran smirked, secretly liking the other man's puzzlement. "Not the type you would think."

"Then what are you proposing?"

At Crawford's question, the redhead held up what he had carried all the way from the Redemption in his hand - a deck of cards. "A game. A very quick and simple one."

The dark-haired captain chuckled at the proposition, humorless though it was, but whether the man was laughing at his guest's overconfidence or his stupidity, Ran didn't know. After collecting himself, Crawford finally found voice and asked, "And I suppose you have something in mind for the ante?"

"Yes. Ken." The redhead kept his gaze leveled on the other man, hoping to understand more of his opponent through his reactions, but if Crawford felt anything for Ran's idea, he didn't show it.

"According to the agreement we made back in London, you've won," the Valiant captain stated tonelessly. "Why this?"

Now, it was Ran's turn to chuckle emptily. "Somehow, I don't trust you," he said plainly.

"That statement in itself requires that I challenge you to a duel. Doubting a gentleman's word is a grave insult to the gentleman."

The redhead kept his eyes trained on the other man, unwilling to be intimidated by anything thrown his way. "And yet, you don't strike me as the complete gentleman," he responded. He crossed his arms and tried to make his posture appear as relaxed as possible, refusing to let Crawford see any of his own weaknesses, especially the one he was about to secretly reveal. "If you win," he began. "I give you Ken's slave papers, with my promise to leave him alone."

"And if you win?"

"If I win," Ran said more firmly as he lowered his arms. "You leave Ken alone and never enter his life again. He shall be free and clear of your presence. And if I find out that you've been anywhere near him, I will ensure that your life will be significantly shorter." 

Crawford actually had the audacity to smile tauntingly at the threat. "And that should be enough of a reason for me to agree to your challenge?"

"Then I'll add something else to it," the redhead returned quickly. "The Redemption."

At this, the dark-haired man did react, a barely noticeable widening of his eyes, but a reaction nonetheless.

Ran could only hope that his opponent would accept the proposal, and not see how much he had at stake. Face emotionless, he clarified in a business-like tone, "Should you win, Ken and the Redemption are yours."

Crawford stared steadily at his redheaded counterpart for a moment - a moment that stretch for so long, Ran felt worry begin to bloom in his chest - and then, shook his head, amusement shining clearly on his face. "I would never have taken you for such a fool, Captain," he observed disparagingly, and paused, expecting the other man to take back what he had just offered. Yet, Ran said nothing, his posture and expression solemn enough that Crawford swiftly sobered up and looked at his serious companion curiously. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Likewise, I could ask you why you want Ken so badly," the redhead countered easily, continuing to observe the other stone-faced captain intently. But Crawford had now closed himself off, not a glimmer of weakness visible on his unreadable face. "Life's a gamble," Ran said honestly. "Or so I'm beginning to learn. That's what Ken has taught me. And I would rather have Ken, healthy and happy, than anything else. If I must sacrifice my ship to see to it, then I will do so. Without Ken, the Redemption would be a sore consolation prize."

The dark-haired captain stood, apparently absorbing the words and yet, seemingly unaffected. "From one captain to another, let me tell you _no_ slave is worth that much."

"Then you don't really want him, do you?"

Golden eyes flared with life, a contradiction to every other aspect of the cold captain. "What do you know of what I do and do not want? What do - "

"Ken is not a possession to be had!" Ran interrupted, his voice beginning to heat up. "If you truly wanted him, then you should know that."

Something fought beneath that impenetrable exterior, something dark, something confusing - something buried - and no matter how hard Crawford tried to hide it, Ran clearly saw for the very first time the conflict he'd ignited within the other man with his words.

It seemed that Crawford was human after all ...

"So be it," the dark-haired captain said finally, his simple acceptance effectively deciding the course Ken's life would take.

Ran watched as Crawford gave him a mocking bow and led him to the captain's cabin. The redhead followed obediently, cards clasped tightly in his hand, his own nervousness barely concealed beneath an impassive mask that had served him so well in the past. Aside from convincing Crawford to accept his challenge, he had no other pre-meditated plan as to what he would do. He had never been a gambler, and the prospect of dealing away Ken's future - and his own - in a single card was not something he had ever pictured himself facing. And yet, as he had told the other man earlier, life was a gamble. Without risking something of himself, he would never reap the rewards that life had to offer. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he never did choose the safer road.

Crawford's cabin could've been summed up in one word - spartan. Whereas Ran's quarters boasted tiny touches of luxury, the dark-haired man's showed no such extravagances. Of course, the bed, chests, and desk were neatly arranged and nailed down in the small space, but like its owner, no personality shone through, its ambience leading one to believe that no one actually lived here.

"Once you are done admiring my accommodations ..." Crawford gestured to a chair by his desk as he took a seat behind it.

Ran gave a cursory glance at the neatly arranged maps and documents on the polished surface, and sat down.

"How do you wish to conduct this?" the Valiant captain asked as he watched the redhead place the cards on the desk and begin to shuffle.

Ran raised his eyes from his task to meet his opponent's. "As I said before, very simple. Three single draws, highest card wins in each case."

"That's rather presumptive of you, isn't it?" Crawford smirked. "Not much skill, and complete chance?"

The younger captain ignored the deliberate taunt and finished shuffling, pushing the deck closer to the other man for him to cut. Crawford leaned forward and complied, an amused smile pasted on his face as he did so. And yet, Ran received the impression that the man was wearing a detached mask, one that was becoming more strained and fragile as the meeting progressed, ... and one that had its owner completely fooled.

Unaware of the redhead's observations, Crawford indicated for Ran to start. "Guests first," he said with false graciousness.

How he managed to keep his hand steady as he chose his first card, Ran would never know, but somehow, he did.

The three of clubs.

Placing the condemning thing face up on the desk, he held his emotions in check and waited for Crawford to draw his card. Expression unperturbed, the Valiant captain chose from the deck.

The knave of diamonds.

Ran discreetly rubbed his hands on his breeches to wipe away the perspiration that had suddenly coated his palms.

Two more draws. He still had two more draws.

Ignoring the rapid staccato of his heart, he gestured for Crawford to select first this time.

The queen of spades.

Bloody hell! Ran had to clamp down on his tongue to avoid cursing aloud at the turn of events. There wasn't much that could beat that card ...

The king of diamonds.

He couldn't stop the relieved breath that escaped him at his draw, which caused a small chuckle from Crawford. Ran threw the man a pointed glare before drawing his last card, but instead of turning it over, he waited for his opponent to choose his. And with his habitually detached air, the dark-haired man did.

Two concealed cards, and two indomitable men who would decide the fate of another with a simple flick of their wrists. If Ran didn't know any better, he would have thought that some melodramatic playwright had contrived the whole tableau.

Violet clashed with gold, and in an unspoken moment of agreement, both men flipped over their cards.

Had he not already been sitting, Ran was certain his legs would've given out and he would've landed in one ungraceful heap on the floor. All his muscles relaxed at once as his eyes darted back and forth between the two newly revealed cards. 

There, in Crawford's hand, sat the king of spades, and his own, as innocent as could be, sat the ace of hearts.

As the repercussions of the recent events set it, the dark-haired captain carelessly dropped his card and looked up at his opponent with a leashed-in anger that threatened to break that cold demeanor.

"Your word," Ran said steadily, his violet gaze unflinching.

No response.

"Your word ... as the gentleman you claim to be," the redhead reasserted.

One's own pride was an almost unconquerable beast, and the younger captain could see his defeated opponent struggle with it in the clenching of his fists, the closing of his eyes, and finally, his nod.

Ran rose, and impartially watched the denied turmoil roil within the other man. "Before, you claimed that I had insulted your honour. From this moment onward, don't ever give me reason to doubt it."

Crawford didn't move, didn't speak, didn't make any indication to let Ran know that his words had been understood. Nevertheless, as he stood there, staring and watching, the redhead slowly became aware of his counterpart's inner struggle ... for in the sitting man, he saw the person he would've become if he hadn't had Kit's stalwart support, the distant echoes of his sister's laughter, and the enduring memory of his parents' love over the years. It was as if ... as if the older man was searching for something - searching for a purpose, a point, a meaning for the life he had lived and the life he was going to live. And as he continued to observe Crawford, Ran realized that the man was still unaware of his own quest.

"Why aren't you leaving? You've won," Crawford said, noting the redhead's immobility.

"Who are you?"

The dark-haired captain was taken aback at first by the blunt question, but slowly, he began to compose himself. A forced look of impassiveness in place, he returned the redhead's curious gaze smugly. "You wonder why I am the way I am? You wonder why I've cast myself into the role of the villain?" He paused and chuckled, the sound brittle. "Let me tell you something, ... Ran. I am no villain, only a man who has learned to take life by the reins. I fight when I'm challenged, I kill when I so desire ... and I steal when I'm stolen from. So do not try to understand me, for it will prove a fruitless task."

Ran didn't respond, the man's small tirade only reaffirming his observations. 

Yes, Crawford was lost, but he didn't even realize it yet. Ken, the game, the chase ... they were nothing but false illusions to the man, mere substitutes for that undefined 'something' Crawford didn't know he was chasing.

A tiny, knowing smile spreading on his face, Ran leaned down on the desk and stared straight into that piercing golden gaze. "Then let me ask you this, Crawford," he said softly. "What are you searching for?"

That said, the redhead straightened and turned around, uncaring of the other man's reaction ... because the question he had asked could not be answered truthfully - not yet, or not ever if Crawford didn't wish to do so. Thus, his boots pounding purposefully on the wooden boards, Ran left the room, left the Valiant, and headed back toward the Redemption ... back toward Ken.

(***)

The late afternoon sun provided the perfect backdrop for the sound of carefree laughter that rang in Youji's ears. He scanned the deck, ephemeral green eyes easily finding the source good-naturedly joking with the Redemption's crew and happily helping with the sails. The blond-haired boy looked out of place amidst the crowd of burly sailors, and yet, it seemed like Omi had been working among them for years.

The young blonde never ceased to amaze him; even after everything he had been through, the boy managed to brush it all off as if it had been nothing more than a minor nuisance, demonstrating again his unbeatable spirit and resilient nature.

Youji had to shake his head at the wonders of youth. Or was it just the failings of his own character that made Omi appear so remarkable?

"Youji!"

The very object of his speculations had spotted him, and with a friendly goodbye to his new friends, the blond boy quickly made his way across the deck to the older man.

"Where are you going?" Omi asked brightly as he caught up with the taller blonde.

Youji smiled wickedly, the comfortable devilish gleam easily appearing in his eyes. "I'm going on shore and planning to make some acquaintances of the fairer sex ... preferably for the next few nights."

The youth rolled his eyes, and then, in a more serious tone, he asked, "Are you running away again?"

Youji sobered up somewhat. "No."

"So you intend to stay?"

The older man nodded, his decision made just a little while ago. "If the captain lets me," he said truthfully and without hesitation..

At this, Omi smiled a smile that outshone even the waning sun. "Good," he said happily. "Because I like it here."

(***)

The sturdy canvas of the Valiant flapped loudly throughout the docks as the sails were set at full. She sailed smoothly and proudly out of Candia's port, her captain and her crew ensconced securely within her confines, entirely oblivious of the lone figure that stood obscured in the shadows of the dying day.

After a few more moments of watching the majestic vessel, Schuldich glanced dispassionately down at the cross-shaped scar on his palm, the puckered pink flesh a souvenir of the sword he had grasped at the wrong moment, a brand that would forever remind him of his temporary lapse to a weakness that had almost cost him his life.

Never again. Those words had become his mantra these past couple of days. Never again would he stoop so low as to want, to desire ... or to trust. Never again ...

But where would he go now?

_/* "Will you return one day?" */_

Schuldich closed his eyes and tried to ignore the intrusive voice. He had the whole world to discover still, an infinite road of possibilities to explore ...

_/* "Will you come back one day? */_

And yet, those voices of the past pulled at him, dragging him back to a time when everything that should have been safe was anything but.

_/* "Please, come back ... Highness ... " */_

Goddamnit!

Schuldich opened his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Perhaps he should head back, if not to see the results of his handiwork three years later, then at the very least, to destroy any survivors he might have overlooked before he'd left. Absently, he wondered if court life had changed all that much these past few years.

Resigned, he slowly turned and began to walk away, but not before he gave the distant silhouette of the only home he'd ever truly known one last look.

"Godspeed, Crawford," he whispered. "And may you one day find whatever it is you're searching for."

(***)

"Captain."

Ran straightened from his slouched position on the rail and looked over to his left. Kit walked up to stand beside his captain, his short body leaning against the wooden girder as the redhead had been doing.

"What is it, Kit? Is something wrong with the ship?" The extensive damage the Redemption had taken in her battle with the Minotaur had yet to be repaired, and whenever the first mate approached him like this, it was usually with something of import.

The older man glanced up at the captain, opened his mouth, and then closed it as if deciding against speaking.

This piqued Ran's curiosity. "Kit?"

"It's nothing," the first mate answered quickly.

The young captain sighed. That crease on the man's forehead stated otherwise. "Out with it, Kit. You may have known me since I was a babe, but you forget that it works the other way as well. I can tell when you have something on your mind."

The first mate chuckled, eyes twinkling with good humor and something akin to pride. "Ah, Ran, you've turned out to be a fine young man."

"You're avoiding the issue," the redhead said with mock sternness. 

Serene smile still in place, Kit returned his gaze to the horizon and waited a few moments. Then, "I don't think I'll be going with you once you leave port."

"What?" At first, Ran had thought he'd heard wrong, but the serious look of the older man's face only reinforced what had just been said. 

"I'm getting old, Ran," Kit said, neither bitterly nor angrily, but with graceful acceptance. "And I can't keep up with this life at sea much longer."

"What are you talking about? You have - "

With only a shake of his head, the first mate easily silenced the boy he had practically raised. "Listen to me, Ran," the older man soothed. "It's time I retire. The weather here is warm and this place seems to agree with my health. Besides, I promised that widowed innkeeper, Olga, that I'd help her run her inn."

Even the captain didn't miss the eager sparkle that manifested in the older man's eyes at that last statement. In fact, it was rather infectious, and before he knew it, Ran found himself smiling.

"I don't know what to say, Kit ..." he began.

"You don't need to say anything." The shorter man stood up and beamed proudly at the redhead. "I swore to your father long ago that I would look after you. Remember that day he sent us out on that lifeboat? I knew then that I wouldn't leave your side unless you were ready, and now, I think it's time. You don't need me any longer ... I think you've finally discovered yourself."

Kit paused as something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. And then, with a knowing smile, he said, "And I think you'll have someone else to take care of you now."

Ran glanced behind to see what had distracted his old friend. Ken, gait careful and movements stiff, was slowly making his way toward him. Instantly, the young captain wanted to order the brunette back to bed, but Kit's next words stopped him.

"I'll go gather my belongings, Captain," the older man said in his business voice and started to walk away. "I should be gone by tomorrow morning."

A part of Ran wanted to shout and scream like a little boy in a tantrum; he didn't want Kit to leave ... not yet, not the man who had been at his side through so many of life's trials. And yet, another part of him wanted to wish the man well, indescribably happy that his long-time friend had finally found a peaceful respite in an otherwise dangerous world.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Ran gave the departing first mate a small salute as he remembered seeing crewmen do on his father's ship. "Good luck, Kit," he said. "And thank you."

The older man stopped to give him one last warm smile, and then turned to continue on his way. 

The young captain watched his first mate disappear into the crew's quarters before turning his attention back to the new arrival at his side.

"You should be in bed." His voice was commanding as usual, but it lacked the authority that it often boasted.

Ken leaned forward and rested his elbows on the rail. "I'm too restless. Besides, I think that moving around and being useful will help me much more in my recovery."

Normally, Ran would've argued until the other man submitted, but at the moment, he wasn't in the mood for it, not when there was that stubborn undertone in the brunette's voice and not after the news he'd just received from Kit. And so, he turned back to lean against the rail as well, taking in the sinking orange globe in the darkening sky. The cool evening breeze swept gently across the small bay, caressing his face and ruffling his hair as softly as a mother would her child. The moment was as close to perfection as Ran could have wanted - the open sea spreading out before him, the steadfastness of his ship floating beneath him, and the comfortable presence standing beside him. Resting there, he realized that he would've given anything to make the moment last forever.

"You know, I remember watching the sun rise with you a long time ago, and thinking it looked like a painting." Ken broke the silence, eyes not leaving the sky of dying light.

Ran's lips curled up slightly. He remembered that morning vividly; the sunrise after a storm was definitely unforgettable. "A painted ocean ..." he said tentatively, liking the imagery of the phrase. "I sometimes get that feeling too."

"The sun will go down tonight, but it'll rise again tomorrow, won't it? That's what you meant by forever ..."

The redhead heard the quietly spoken words, but knew that they required no response from him. It was Ken's revelation, and Ken's alone.

Suddenly, he realized the importance of their private meeting: this would be the idea time to tell him ... to let him know that ...

Ran closed his eyes for a moment. He had just lost Kit. Must he lose Ken as well so soon?

Yet, he knew he couldn't withhold his decision from the brunette. "You're free now," he said without preamble.

He didn't need to look to know that Ken was questioning his statement. "It's what you've always wanted, isn't it? Your freedom? You've more than repaid your debt to me - back at the Tower, and on the Minotaur." Ran stopped. The next part was going to be difficult to say. Thus, only after taking a fortifying breath did he speak on bravely. "If you wish to continue working on a ship, I can recommend you to some good captains I know ..."

This was it. This was the moment when Ken would leave him forever. Ran braced himself for the damning words.

After a short pause, the brunette nodded solemnly. "Thank you. I already have a ship in mind."

Even though he'd been prepared for Ken's decision, the powerful constriction in his chest was almost too painful to bear, but quickly hiding behind his captain's mask again, he raised an apathetic eyebrow and asked, "Which ship? Do I know her?"

"She's a privateer's ship," Ken answered without hesitation. "With a very stubborn, redheaded captain. It's just a matter of whether that captain will have me or not."

The meaning of the brunette's statement did not register with Ran until he looked down into those devilishly glinting brown eyes, teasing humor shining brightly for him to see. And, slowly, unknowingly, the redhead's mask began to crack. A smile appeared, not a small one, or a wistful one, but a real, genuine smile. "I might be able to put in a good word for you," Ran said, a teasing twinkle of his own flashing in his violet gaze. "Besides, I heard that the captain is in need of a first mate ... "

  
End Chapter 15

End Upon a Painted Ocean  



	16. Afterword

**_Afterword_**

And so ends _Upon a Painted Ocean_. We've traveled from the Caribbean, to England to France, and finally to Crete with Ran and his crew, and I certainly hope you enjoyed the adventure as much as I did. But before I end this off completely, I want to make a few comments about the story. 

Firstly, the title, 'Upon a Painted Ocean', is actually a line from Samuel Coleridge's poem, 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'. Back when I was first piecing together the plot, I had flipped through some poems for inspiration and came upon this one. The poem itself is about a sailor who shoots an albatross (a so-called omen for seamen, I believe) and ends up carrying the burden (the bird) of his mistake around his neck. With the amount of angst and painful pasts that the characters of this piece of fiction carried around, I thought a line from that poem would work nicely as a title.

Secondly, I realize that the story has quite a few loose ends still, particularly with the characters of Youji, Omi, Crawford, and Schuldich. Originally, this fic was intended to be 20-plus chapters, with the personal stories of the aforementioned characters intertwined within the main plot. But this whole thing started on a challenge that involved primarily a Ran/Ken pairing, so partway through the story, I ended up re-working the latter half to accommodate this. Perhaps when I have time and feel up to it, (or if there's actually a demand for it), I'll write the side stories for those characters, but until then, this one will have to do.

Finally, I would like to take this opportunity to express my sincerest thanks to those who have reviewed (publicly and privately) this fic. Seeing as there's almost a year's worth of reviews, I won't be able to name all of you, but special thanks to those who have commented on it right from the beginning, and multiple times as well! ^_^

_Tschubi-chan_ - who issued the original challenge and sent comments despite her busy schedule  
_Erjika_ - one of the best artistic, whip-wielding chibi-muses a girl can have  
_Bishie no Miko_ - for her wonderful enthusiasm and her beautiful reviews  
_Lady Cosmos_ - who asked about the fic even though she's not much of a Ran/Ken fan  
_Daemonchan_ - where are the chapters you promised me?  
_Sidara_ - keep up the great work, and good luck with your original project!  
_Yoake_ - a perfect sweetie when it comes to reviews  
_Lilas_ - another one of those charmingly enthusiastic Ran/Ken fans  
_K-chan_ - who I maintain has corrupted me, even though she's a little more than two-thirds my age  
_Hallucinogenic_ - a wonderful reviewer, and who, I believe, is K-chan's corrupt partner in crime  
_Ana (chbimun) and gal_ - awesome writers in their own right, but also awesome reviewers as well. And Ana, I read your reaction in response to your review of 'Requiem', and I just have to give you a big hug. The past is something to be reflected upon and learned from, but not to dwell on. Never regret your choices. Take it easy, okay? ^_^  
_Truth_ - who is probably one busy woman, but still managed to send me a few emails that totally made my day  
_siberian_ - one of the sweetest and most consistent reviewers out there  
_Ami-chan_ - who's non-discriminate in her reading, and reviews unabashedly no matter what  
_Swythangel, Leoangel, dragon-chan, DragonSoul, lorien, Erfaciel, emperessRose, chibi-chan, Lily and all the others out there that have reviewed and/or read the story, but I haven't mentioned. _

Thank you so much!

I had a great time writing this story, and I certainly hope you enjoyed reading it. Heck, another few chapters, and I could have easily made this into a small novel since it breeches about the 175-page mark as it is. But whether you liked it or not, please let me know. I like hearing others' opinion, be they good or bad. ^_^

Regards,  
Portia 


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